Faith Wants Your Heart

There are moments in Scripture so brief, so quiet, so easily passed over, that we almost miss the entire weight of Heaven behind them. Luke 17 records one of those moments—an encounter tucked into a journey, a miracle overshadowed by a greater truth, a healing overshadowed by a deeper kind of wholeness.

Jesus is on His way to Jerusalem. He is walking the long road toward the cross. His face is set toward what awaits Him there. The crowds press, the disciples follow, and every step carries purpose. Yet on this journey—between Samaria and Galilee, in a region people preferred to avoid—ten voices cry out from a distance. Ten men, standing far off, separated by law and shame and disease, call out with the only prayer they still have left:

“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.”

It’s striking that they know His name. It’s striking they know His authority. It’s striking they know enough to call Him “Master.” Their theology is not the problem. Their belief is not lacking. They believe He can do something. They believe He sees them. They believe He is not like other teachers who shrink away from uncleanness.

Belief is not their issue.

Jesus sees them—really sees them—and He simply says,

“Go, show yourselves to the priests.”

He gives no explanation.

He offers no ceremony.

He performs no gesture.

He asks them to walk away still unhealed, still disfigured, still rejected. And yet, in a remarkable act of obedience, they go. They head toward the priests, toward the very people who would certify their cleansing, even though nothing appears changed. And as they go, the miracle happens.

“As they went, they were cleansed.”

Ten men obey.

Ten are healed.

Ten receive the mercy they asked for.

If the story ended there, it would already be extraordinary. Ten lepers healed in a single breath of divine compassion. Ten broken bodies restored. Ten stories rewritten in an instant.

But the heart of this passage is not the healing.

The heart is what happens next.

One man—only one—when he sees that he has been healed, stops walking toward the priests. He turns around. He goes back to Jesus. He returns the way he came. He retraces steps of pain now filled with joy. He lifts his voice in praise. And when he reaches Jesus, he falls at His feet in gratitude. Luke tells us he was a Samaritan—someone doubly excluded, doubly despised—yet the one whose heart is awakened first.

Then Jesus asks three of the most piercing questions in Scripture:

“Were not ten cleansed?”

“Where are the nine?”

“Was no one found to return and give glory to God except this foreigner?”

And then He gives the one who returned something deeper than healing:

“Arise, go your way; your faith has made you well.”

(Luke 17:19)

Not your belief.

Not your obedience.

Not your desperation.

Not your miracle.

Your faith.

The implication is staggering:

Nine received healing, but only one received wholeness.

Nine obeyed, but only one returned.

Nine believed Jesus could help, but only one came back because his heart had been captured.

This is the hinge of the sermon:

Belief received a blessing.

Faith returned to the Blesser.

Belief accepts a gift.

Faith gives gratitude.

Belief walks away with something from Jesus.

Faith walks back to give something to Jesus.

In this passage, belief and faith are not the same thing.

In fact, Jesus Himself refuses to treat them as the same thing.

Ten believed.

One had faith.

Ten obeyed.

One worshiped.

Ten walked toward the priests.

One walked toward Christ.

This is the central distinction of the Christian life—the dividing line between those who know about Jesus and those who walk with Him… between those who receive from Him and those who give Him their hearts… between those who want His blessings and those who want His presence.

And into this moment of contrast comes Jesus’ final statement:

“Your faith has made you well.”

The word He uses includes the idea of salvation—of wholeness, restoration, return, and relationship. The nine received the healing of their skin. The one received the healing of his soul.

Because faith does not merely act on what Jesus can do.

Faith wants Jesus Himself.

Belief accepts facts.

Faith gives affection.

Belief acknowledges truth.

Faith forms relationship.

Belief sees Jesus’ power.

Faith seeks Jesus’ heart.

That is why your title is so fitting:

Faith Wants Your Heart.

And if we are honest, this question Jesus asked long ago still searches us today:

Where are the nine?

Where are those who received grace but did not return?

Where are those who experienced mercy but did not give worship?

Where are those who know Jesus’ name but never bring Him their gratitude?

Where are those who want healing but not surrender, help but not devotion, blessings but not relationship?