Here’s an old joke: A person kept watch over a lighthouse for years where a loud foghorn sounded every 10 minutes to warn nearby ships. Ten minutes, every day, day in and day out: 7:20 p.m. [BLEEEEET!], 7:30 [BLEEEEET!], 7:40 [BLEEEEET!]. . . 9 o’clock, 9:10, 9:20 . . . and so on. One day, at 3:20 in the morning, the foghorn fails to work, resulting in silence. The keeper leaps out of bed and shouts, “What was that?!?”
Joke notwithstanding, we’re actually often bad at sensing a lack of something in our lives, especially if that lessening is gradual or intermittent. In today’s Gospel selection, from Luke, nine of the 10 lepers Jesus cured failed to acknowledge that they were healed. The Gospel says: “And one of [the lepers], realizing he had been healed . . .” Now, I’m not saying that the other nine didn’t notice they had been cleansed, but — at the very least — they didn’t express any gratitude or indication that they knew it.
I have a similar hard time knowing when my prayers have been answered with an absence. It’s only when I stop to really think that I realize a shoulder that had been bothering me for months doesn’t hurt anymore. Or that I haven’t had any serious headaches in years. Or that a friend who was going through behavioral issues has found peace.
I now realize that these “miracles of absence” are no less a miracle, in the sense that my life is made better by them. I’ve been blessed to never have had a serious illness (I’m pretty sure I’ve never been admitted into a hospital since I was born). I’m very fortunate to live in a safe part of the world, with readily available access to clean water and food. I’ve had no serious issues with those closest to me. Those I most love and admire are generally — to crib from the first reading, from Titus — “peaceable, considerate, exercising all graciousness toward everyone.”
Now, obviously we can’t acknowledge each and every thing that has failed to happen in our lives: “Hurray; a meteor didn’t destroy my home! Hurray; I don’t have leprosy! Hurray; my mother-in-law hasn’t declared a blood oath on me!” (etc.)
But — like the nine lepers in today’s Gospel — we’re also really bad at recognizing when our own hardships have been lessened . . . and perhaps even less likely to give God proper thanks and glory for these quiet moments.
If you keep a journal, consider seeing what was on your mind five or 10 years ago. (If you’re on a social-media site like Facebook, you can check your own Timeline and see what you were posting about years ago.) See if what was really concerning to you is still an issue. I had a friend just today re-share a cryptic-but-depressing post from eight years ago, and — since they didn’t provide details in the original post — they could do nothing today but comment, “Wow! I wonder what was going on in my life that day?!”
For those blessed to have families, consider reminiscing about where you were a decade ago . . . what problems you had, and if those are still major concerns. (Research has shown that marriages who bond over their shared history — and realize the collective struggles and hardships they’ve overcome together — are stronger than those who get too caught in the day-to-day moment.) For those troubles that do still weigh on you, see what insight you might pray to God about, or what new things might be done.
And for those matters that seemed so troubling, so difficult, so overwhelming . . . what if they’re not there anymore? Be like today’s Samaritan, and give thanks to God! If any one person or group was instrumental in helping you, consider expressing your gratitude to them as well. If you’re in a position to do so, maybe “pay it forward” by trying to help others in bad situations.
Regardless, consider really reflecting on Psalm 23 — from today — and understand the “verdant pastures” the Lord has laid out in your life. It’s all but impossible to appreciate a verdant pasture if you have been too concerned with looking over your shoulder, or moving forward at full speed to get to your destination. Sometimes, it takes a humble heart and reflection to appreciate the miracles you can’t see.
