Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, 'Jesus, Master, have pity on us!' When he saw them, he said, 'Go, show yourselves to the priests.' And as they went, they were cleansed.
One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus's feet and thanked him. The man was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, 'Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?'
Ten were healed. One returned to give thanks. And that one was an outsider—a Samaritan, which in Jewish context meant an enemy. Jesus's question isn't condemning the nine who didn't return; it's wondering at the gratitude of the one who did. The outsider, the foreigner, the one with least social status—he's the one who stops to acknowledge what happened. He's the one who circles back. I wonder what that says about my own thankfulness. Do I recognize what's been given? Do I stop to acknowledge it? Or do I move on to the next thing? The Samaritan models something: awareness, pause, gratitude that reverses the usual hierarchies.
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