“The Grateful One” (Luke 17:11-19)
Out past the scrub where the mulga grows,
And the cockatoos wheel in flight,
Ten blokes camped by the river bend,
Kept clear of towns by law and fright.
Their skin was rough, their spirits worn,
Marked by a curse they couldn’t shake,
But word came down from a drover’s mouth:
“There’s a healer near the Break.”
So up they stood, all ten as one,
And hailed him from afar:
“Oi, Jesus mate! We’re crook as dogs—
Can you fix us where we are?”
He didn’t touch, he didn’t preach,
Just nodded toward the priest,
“Go show yourselves,” he calmly said,
And turned his gaze due east.
They shuffled off through spinifex,
And as they walked, they found
Their sores were gone, their limbs were strong,
Their health was safe and sound.
Nine kept on toward the town,
To claim their clean-skin fate,
But one bloke stopped, a foreign chap,
A Sammy from out of state.
He turned around, came back full tilt,
And dropped down at the feet
Of Jesus, crying, “Thanks, old mate,
Your mercy’s hard to beat.”
Then Jesus said, “Where are the rest?
Weren’t ten of you made whole?”
But only this bush stranger came
To thank me heart and soul.
“Get up,” he said, “Your faith’s the thing =
It’s made you truly well.”
And the wind blew soft through the desert grass
As the grateful stranger fell.
Wondering Pilgrim, October, 2025
Wondering Pilgrim 