Luke 17:11-19; 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time

The leper couldn’t have thanked Jesus the same day he was healed. Jesus asked the lepers to show themselves to the priest, remember? He wanted them to still follow due process. For ostracized lepers to be reintegrated into society, the clean bill of health had to be “official.” The temple priest needed to check on the lepers week after week, making sure if their sores were actually shrinking and scarring over. And even once healed, they still had to do eight days of elaborate purification rituals before they could rejoin the community.

So, we have to hand it to this one leper, sisters and brothers. It must have taken him many days to locate Jesus to thank him, considering how much Jesus moved around. And since Jesus was a sweet guy, I bet he appreciated the appreciation. (This is not strange to us, sisters and brothers. You and I know how this feels. When someone cares enough to go the distance to thank us–we appreciate the appreciation.)

In my experience, different people appreciate appreciation in various ways. Most say, “You’re very welcome, Father.” Some say, “Oh no, Father, thank you!” Several are too shy to say anything when I thank them. But their smile makes up for their silence. A funny response I sometimes get is: “Sus, ikaw pa Arnel! Nanginginig pa!” But the funniest is how my closest Jesuit brothers respond when I say, “Huy, salamat, ha?” They say: “Anukabah! Tumigil ka!” But I know that’s cariño brutal for: “You’ll do the same thing for us when we need your help, so you’re welcome.” Most of us, if not all of us in this room, are gracious with people who express their gratitude to us. We know how to appreciate appreciation.

Which was why I was heartbroken last Saturday for a very kind lady. Before the anticipated Mass in Ateneo Rockwell, I ran to Power Plant to grab something to eat. I was ecstatic when I saw a little deli that served pastrami sandwiches. My favorite! Because I get to eat one only every 500 years. I stepped into the deli and I was very warmly welcomed by a lady wait staff. Sisters and brothers, her smile was real. Her cheerfulness was natural. She greeted everyone who came in as warmly as she welcomed me. As diners stepped out, she said with equal warmth and cheer: “Thank you po, sir. Ma’am, thank you po. Balik po kayo,” looking up at their faces, sisters and brothers, being neither officious nor disingenuous. Unlike those Japanese restaurant waiters who blast you with a chorus of “Irashaimasse!” like a hospitality SWAT team, this little lady’s warmth was unrehearsed. Her gratitude was the real deal.

You know, sisters and brothers, of the five couples who stepped out of the deli after dine-in, so that’s 10 people–not one soul acknowledged the lady’s presence. No one said anything back. None even looked at her as she thanked them. She was invisible to them. I felt so sorry for her I wanted to buy her a sandwich to take home for supper.

Which got me into thinking, sisters and brothers. For us, Filipinos, is acknowledging a person’s appreciation a matter of social class? Are we more comfortable saying, “You’re welcome” or “Oh, no, thank you,” or smile, when the person who thanks us is our “equal”? Or is it a social imperative to say, “You’re welcome,” to a superior, an elder, or someone more privileged than we? And only optional to say that to a wait staff, a security guard, a tindera who thanks us. “But they’re paid to do that,” I was once told. “But we already patronized the establishment,” went another. “I left a tip over and above the service charge.” But to make them feel seen, that can’t be tagged with a price, can it? And in a society where the poor already resign themselves to invisibility, being appreciated for their appreciation must give their hearts quite the lift.

In my last week in Boston, I said my last Mass at St Anthony’s, after three years of hearing confessions there and saying the noon Mass. I had a huge lump in my throat when I thanked the parishioners, especially when I asked them to pray over me before the final blessing. Incidentally, at the backmost pew, always sat a middle-aged lady. She’d limp up to communion. And instead of saying, “Amen,” she said, “Thank you, Fathah, thank you.” There was this blankness in her gaze that told me she had some form of dementia. She’d then hobble back to her seat beside which she parked her grocery trolley heaping with odds and ends. The lady was homeless. As I marched down the aisle after that last Mass, she came limping towards me. Reaching me, she raised both hands clutching a folded five-dollar bill that had seen better days. “For you, Fathah. Thank you, Fathah, thank you.” Very much surprised, I didn’t know what to do except say, “thank you, ma’am, thank you very much.” But it sounded so lame; I mean, nothing compared to her gratitude, complete with her present, her tanging yaman: a precious five-dollar bill she could’ve spent for…what…a pastrami sandwich…for supper?

I think Jesus was overjoyed seeing the ex-leper again. This probably didn’t happen every day, when someone would care enough to search him out just to thank him. Jesus never healed people for the gratitude. Which was why it must have moved him so deeply when someone actually came back to offer him one. And I bet he was gracious in appreciating appreciation.

Discipleship, sisters and brothers, reveals itself in 3 ways: doing acts of charity, expressing gratitude, and perhaps, most tellingly, acknowledging the gratitude of others, especially from people the world considers small. To take that effort to honor their gratitude, to make them feel truly seen in that very moment, is not only humane. It is Christ-like.

*image from Moana