Gratitude: A Gift In An Age Of Entitlement

Text: Luke 17:11-19

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

There were ten diseased, broken, and socially outcast lepers. And all ten cried out,

“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” 

And Jesus did. He spoke, and they were healed. But here is the catch: only one returned. Only one came back. One out of ten.

Now let’s stop for a moment. 

Just one out of ten; that’s ten percent. That’s failing. 

Now, the question we must ask is not, "Why did they not return?" but rather, "Why do we not return? Why do we also fail to give thanks?"

You see, we live in an age of profound ingratitude. But this is not because we were not taught good manners. No, instead, we live in a culture of entitlement.  And entitlement is the enemy of gratitude. Indeed, we live in a time where people believe they are owed everything. Everything is a right. Everything is deserved: food, housing, love, affirmation, safety, happiness, health! It should all be ours by default. So, when we receive a gift, well… we aren’t grateful.  We consume and then demand more. 

Again, this is the heart of an entitlement culture. When we give way to entitlement, gratitude dies. Mark this: you can’t be thankful for what you think you deserve. 

Martin Luther once said that ungrateful people are like pigs under an oak tree, devouring acorns but never looking up to the branches above. Ungrateful people consume – like pigs – but never stop to realize that the tree gave them the food.

And so, like those nine lepers who rushed off with their clean skin but forgot the source of their cleansing, we too often gobble up God’s gifts and run along like entitled brats. We drink down God’s graciousness and wipe our mouths like sloppy pigs.

We don’t pray, praise, or give thanks. We just eat, belch, and move on. To make things worse, we act like God is the one being inconvenient. We sigh at worship as if it's a bother. We dread returning to the Lord’s church as if it were some kind of religious chore.

Why try to justify this in our minds by thinking that ingratitude is neutral. But it is not! Ingratitude is theft. It is the robbery of God’s glory. Every gift consumed without thanks is a denial of the Giver. It’s a declaration: 

"I earned this. I deserve this. I don’t need You, O Lord. I am my own god."

This is why Jesus was so startled—so disappointed—by the absence of the nine, saying, 

“Were not ten cleansed? Where are the nine?” 

The answer is obvious: they took the gift and did not return. 

Dear friends, ingratitude forgets the Giver. Ingratitude is spiritual amnesia. It forgets that we deserve nothing except sin, death, and hell.

Gratitude, though—gratitude flows from humility. Gratitude knows that every breath is a gift. Every meal is grace. Every heartbeat is mercy. Gratitude does not say, 

“I earned this.” 

It rather says, 

“Lord, thank You. I am not worthy.”

* * *

I remember a man named Vince. He was a parishioner – and a mentor, though he didn’t know it. Vince lived with gratitude. You could see it in his eyes. He would often say, 

“I’ll never understand why Christ bled and died for me. I don’t deserve His love.”

But here’s the thing about Vince: he didn’t try to conjure up gratitude. He didn’t work at being grateful. He didn’t fake it. No, gratitude poured out of him because he rightly understood who he was. Vince knew he was a poor miserable sinner. He knew that he was deserving of nothing but sin, death, and hell. And so when he looked around at the blessings in his life—his wife, his church, his health, his Savior—he was overwhelmed because he knew he deserved none of it. Sit up and listen to this carefully: when a man knows that he deserves hell and receives heaven instead, the result is gratitude. Not manufactured… not coerced… but real gratitude.

And so, Vince didn’t take his wife for granted. Or his church. Or his retirement pension. Or the pew he sat in. He saw all of life as gift. He expected nothing and appreciated everything. His faith made him grateful. His gratitude made him joyful.

And being with Vince? It was a joy. You see, gratitude is magnetic. It shines with the light of Christ. People who live with gratitude have a kind of holy glow to them. They are not bitter. They are not entitled. They are not puffed up with their own self-worth. They do not flaunt their spiritual resumes.  They are instead, like that one leper, on their knees before Jesus, with nothing except the constant words of ,”God be praised.”  

Dear friends, ingratitude tends to forget great blessings and only takes note of what hasn’t been given, what is not done, and who should’ve done this or that.  Ingratitude forgets Good Friday. Ingratitude forgets the empty tomb. But gratitude remembers gifts. Gratitude remembers the font. Gratitude remembers the altar. Gratitude remembers, 

“I am a poor, miserable sinner, and Christ has had mercy on me.”

You see, gratitude lives in the present, but it always looks back to the cross and forward to the resurrection. Gratitude sees the gifts of this life and names them for what they are: God’s gracious provision for undeserving sinners.

The Samaritan leper returned to Jesus because his faith drove him back to Christ. And faith always returns. Gratitude is the fruit of faith. Faith clings to Christ. Faith returns. And faith always says, “Thank You.” That’s right: faith says, “I have nothing. But You, Lord, have everything. Give me more.” Like a child asking grandma for seconds at Thanksgiving – and Grandma always loves to give more – so we return to Jesus, not in shame, but with confidence that the Lord delights to give us grace upon grace.

And here is the good news: Jesus does not grow weary of our returning. He does not tire of our need. He is not annoyed by our cries for mercy. Quite the opposite. He delights in it. He rejoices when we return. He welcomes our neediness. He welcomes our prayers. He welcomes our praise. And why do we return? Because we are grateful. We know that we are beggars. We know that we are in need. We know that apart from Christ, we have nothing. And so, in gratitude, we return again and again and again to receive.

Dear Baptized Saints, mark this well: everything we have is gift. Not earned. Not deserved. But gift. The breath in your lungs – gift. The spouse beside you – gift. The food in your belly – gift. The pew you sit in – gift. The Word preached into your ears – gift. The water poured upon you in baptism – gift. The body and blood upon your tongue – gift. The hope of the resurrection – gift. Even the discipline and affliction of the Lord is a gift. That’s right—when the Lord disciplines us, when He allows sorrow or hardship to come our way, it is divine mercy that shakes us from our slumber and causes us to lift our eyes to Christ.  And so, hear this loud and clear, everything you have to show for in this life is because of your gracious giving God.

So then, the Christian life is nothing less than a life of gratitude. Like those lepers, we have nothing to give to God but everything to receive from Him. That is the posture of faith. That is the posture of the leper who returned. That is the posture of Vince, who knew he was undeserving but received all things in Christ. And that is your posture, too, as members of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church.  We have nothing but empty hands, open ears, and hearts of gratitude to receive everything from Jesus.

So, the point of the Gospel reading is clear: return to Jesus with gratitude like that leper.  Yes, return like clockwork. Return like the liturgy that beats weekly in the life of the church. Return like the sun rises. Return like the tides. Return like the seasons. Return to Christ because you know you will never exhaust the storehouse of God's goodness. You will never hear Jesus say, 

"That’s enough returning for you." 

He will not slam the door. He will not withhold. He gives more.

This is why we are here today in this church. We are here with our sin. We are here with our weariness and empty hands to receive again from Christ. And when we return, we return with gratitude. Gratitude that flows from faith. Gratitude that clings to Christ. Gratitude that confesses: I am not worthy, but He is merciful to me.

Baptized Saints, our whole life becomes an echo of that Samaritan leper. We live lives of returning. Lives of receiving. Lives of gratitude. Not because we’re good at being thankful, but because we know that we are not worthy, yet Christ is still gracious. Indeed, we know where Jesus is. And we know that there is more grace in Christ than there is sin in us. And this is the great contrast: the world lives entitled, demanding what it thinks it deserves. But Christians are never entitled, for we know that we are poor, miserable sinners. We know we deserve nothing, yet Christ gives us everything. And so our whole lives are marked not by entitlement, but by gratitude because we have a gracious God. 

In the name of Jesus. Amen.