The Jew of biblical times
looked down upon Samaritans (inhabitants of Samaria) as racially and
religiously “impure,” as inferior, as bad guys, if you will. They considered
themselves pure breeds, superior to Samaritans, good guys, if you will. The
gospel today sings a different song. Of the ten lepers cured, nine of them were
Jews and one was a Samaritan, and the only one to return to say thanks was the
Samaritan. The gospel tells a good story about so-called “bad” guys (Samaritans), and at the same
time it tells a bad story about so-called “good “ guys (Jews.)[1]
The obvious message of
the story is about gratitude (or the lack of it). But the passage also has an overtone to it, a secondary message
which clings to and colors the whole story: it’s a message about labels.
In its own quiet way the story attacks the labels we pin on people. It says there is no such thing as “bad
Samaritans” or “good Jews.” There are only ”Samaritans,” some of whom are good and
some of whom are bad. Just as at this tragic moment in our nation’s history, we
keep making the point there is no such thing as “bad Muslims.” There are only
Muslims, some good and some bad. When,
however, it comes to terrorists, they are all bad, and especially the ones who
terrorize in the name of Allah.
It’s a secondary message
but it’s timely. Obviously the first
message is about gratitude or the lack of it. That’s an appropriate theme for
this time of the year when the leaves are now turning into glory and gold, and
the harvest is being gathered into bins, and when soon enough our thoughts will
be rushing towards Thanksgiving, our favorite national feast. Someone has said
it’s the purest of all our feasts, purer even than Christmas or Easter, because
Thanksgiving Day has remained faithful
to its original simple idea:
gratitude for family gathered ‘round, and gratitude for our Tables of
Plenty.
But gratitude is becoming an endangered species. In an older day when life was rural, and also very stark and sparse, our forefathers and mothers planted their crops in early spring, and cared for them through the warm summer days, and then in fall gathered a rich harvest into bins against the long winter night ahead. That yearly round always made them feel blessed and grateful even in their frugality. And it was no surprise that sooner or later they would invent a special day just for giving thanks. Things are very different in an urban society, surrounded now as we are with all sorts of comforts and conveniences. You actually lose the sense of gratitude. Furthermore, in such a society as ours, you work your head off for the weekly check, and then you go to the supermarket and pay so much for so little, and when you bring it home and pour it all out on the table, you don't feel particularly inclined to say "thanks" for anything. If rural pilgrims had not invented Thanksgiving Day, if that had been left to us urbanites, it would probably still be waiting to be invented.
Gratitude is becoming an endangered species, especially in
a capitalist society like ours. In your
illness you approach the healthcare system for help, and the first thing they
ask you, the first thing they are obliged to ask you, is not “Are you dying?” but rather “Are you insured?” That doesn’t make you feel
particularly grateful for anything.
Again, in your illness you approach the healthcare system for help, and
they get you into the hospital at early dawn for major surgery (brain
operation), and they hope to have you out by evening. In such a rush that
dismisses you half-dead, you don’t feel particularly grateful for anything. If
rural pilgrims had not invented Thanksgiving Day, if that had been left to us
urbanites, it would probably still be waiting to be invented.
No
gifts for thanks
Again, gratitude is
becoming an endangered species, especially in the prevailing atmosphere. That atmosphere in which we live and breathe
all week long is completely lacking in grace, completely lacking in
gratis. Nothing is free anymore.
Some of us remember the days when you could get free soup bones at the corner
butcher shop or free lunches of rye bread, cheese, sausage, herring at the
local tavern. Today you pay for absolutely everything, and right
up to the nose. And when you pay for
absolutely everything, then nothing is gift, and when there are no gifts
around, there are no reasons for saying “Thanks.” People used to act much more gratis-ly with each other
than they do now. There were many more gifts around in those days than there
are now. And there were many more people saying “Thanks” to each other than
there are now.
This lack of grace, this
lack of gratis, this staunch demand for payment in the big and little
transactions of life now days, eventually creeps up into the higher realms of
our lives. And before we know it, there’s no more grace, no more gratis in our
relationship with each other, especially with the ones close to us: our spouse,
our children, our parents, our brothers and sisters. Before we know it, we are
staunchly making each other pay up before we love them. Before we know it, the
only one left declaring grace and gratis in our lives, the only one left
declaring free unconditional love in our lives, is the family dog. And yes,
before we know it, the only one left to whom we’re saying “Thanks” is the
family dog.
Gratitude becomes an endangered species also in a society that is spoiled and stuffed not only with food but also with electronic toys, over-done technology and yuppie selfishness. Giving thanks, being grateful, requires a certain amount of emptiness, and nobody in this whole wide world stands proof of that, as do those hungry Afghani refugees. They stand there in front of us on TV with whole belly-fulls of empty space for gratitude.
Gratitude, saying ”Thanks,” becomes an endangered species also when we don’t take the time to say it. Ten lepers were cured but only one took time to return to say “Thanks.” The gospel doesn’t say that the other nine were ungrateful. It simply says that they neglected to return to say thanks. TV these days is full of a million personal little aftermaths of September 11, like, “Oh how I wish I would have told him how much I loved him.” Or, “Oh how I wish I would have thanked her more than I did.” When you feel grateful, then for God’s sake, say it while you can!
And that brings to the
very heart of what we especially want to say to ourselves and to each other at
this very tragic moment in the life of our nation and in our own personal
lives: It’s been said over and over
again: “After September 11th
nothing will ever be the same again.” After September 11th giving
thanks will never be the same again.
After September 11th the blessings for which we give thanks
will never be the same again. After
September the 11th much of our confusion about the real blessings of
life suddenly has been blown away together with the twin towers. All of a sudden we know with a clarity which
are the true blessings of life.
They’re not a flashy Porsche or Alfa Romeo (even such toys get boring).
They’re not million dollar homes (even
they can be blown away). The true blessings of life aren’t the kudos of our
cultural heroes (who eventually fade or get tarnished or simply disappear with
our “un-deception”).
All of a sudden, we have
awaken to life’s real blessings, like living in a world that is
reasonably free from fear and terror, and reasonably filled with peace. Without that, though we might have
everything (the kudos, the mansions, the Alfa Romeo’s), we have nothing. If we live in a world where we have to fear
every envelope that comes in the daily mail, then though we might have
everything, we have nothing.
September 11th
has awakened us to life’s real blessings, like something so simple as sending
our spouse off to work, or our son or daughter off to school, and being
peacefully assured they’re going to return safe and sound; or like something so
simple as being given a second chance to say the “Thanks” we haven’t been
saying. After September 11th
we’ve suddenly awakened to the real blessings of life, like something so stark
and so meager as to be able to comfort a loved one who’s dying, and when
finally departed, to be able to take his or her body down from the cross and
give it peaceful burial in a marked grave which we can visit on Memorial Day or
All Souls Day.
After September 11th
gratitude is an entirely new ball game. Our confusion about the blessings of
life has been blown away with the twin towers. We now have a clarity that finds
us saying “Thanks” for the inestimable blessing of human beings outpouring
their humanity upon other human beings; a clarity that has us saying
“Thanks” and “Thanks again” for
policemen, firemen, diggers, searcher, movers of mountains, living and dead.
“Thanks” to them for their towering humanity which stands 110 stories taller
than the petty, paltry, cheap, desperate inhumanity of the terrorists, who are
all bankrupt human beings. “Thanks” to
all those great human beings, living and dead, for reminding us that the truly
great blessing in life is the humanity of people toward us and our humanity
toward them. “Thanks” to all of them for reminding us in this utterly inhumane moment
of ours that, at the end of the day, there is really an ocean of love out
there.
Yes, by some strange
dynamic, after September 11th everything has become blessing, even
simply walking out into the glory of autumn.
After September 11,
Thanksgiving Day 2001 (November 22 this year) will never be the same,
especially for those of us who have been deeply moved and changed, and who now
have a new set of blessings to count. And for sure, Thanksgiving Day this year
will never be the same for six thousand grieving families who are at a loss to
count any blessing at all.
[1] Jesus himself frequently goes out of his
way to take the wind out of the age old label pinned on Samaritans. He
purposely tells good stories about these bad guys. Recall that Mother of All
Parables that he crafted for us, the Parable of the Good
Samaritan: “Once upon a time a man going from Jerusalem to Jericho was
waylaid by robbers and left half dead. Along came a Jewish priest (good guy)
saw him, did nothing, and passed by. Along came a Jewish Levite (good guy), saw
him, did nothing, and pass by. Finally there came a Samaritan (bad guy) who
stopped and poured the oil of mercy and compassion into the poor man's wounds,
then hoisted him on his beast of burden and hurried him off to the nearest inn,
where he reached deeply into his pockets to defray the expense of his
compassion." How eminently Jesus
was in deflating the old label: the Jew of old could think of no Samaritan
that wasn’t a bad guy, and now today, because of Jesus’ parable, we can think
of no Samaritan who isn’t a good guy!