The Thank You Note - October 14, 2007
Luke 17: 11-19Recently I happened to catch a re-run of an episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond”. If you are not familiar with this show, it is about an extended family living on Long Island. The matriarch of the Barrone family, Marie, and her husband Frank live across the street from their married son, Raymond and his wife Deborah, who have three children. The Barrones have another adult son, Robert. There are a few sub-plots of the show that are important to understand to catch all the subtleties of an episode: Robert feels as if Raymond was always the family favorite (hence the title of the series), and Deborah always feels as if Marie does not think she’s good enough for Raymond.
Robbie has just gotten married to a woman named Amy, who has not exactly gotten the same treatment from Marie that Deborah has. Marie feels as if she still has an opportunity to mold Amy into the kind of proper wife that Robert deserves-- in others words “a gal just like the one who married dear old Dad.” It is clearly too late for Deborah, who has to listen to a litany of ways she has fallen short of Marie’s vision for a good enough wife in every episode.
In the re-run I watched recently, Robert and Amy have just returned from their honeymoon a few days prior. The couple comes over to Ray and Deborah’s for the first post-honeymoon visit when Frank and Marie pop in unannounced, as they often do at the younger Barrone’s house, much to Deborah’s chagrin.
Marie begins hinting that some friends of hers are wondering if Robert and Amy ever got their wedding gift, you know, since the thank-you note hasn’t arrived yet. Amy, not yet accustomed to getting the third degree from Marie, points out that she just got back from her honeymoon and that of course she will be sending out the notes…soon. Marie presses and presses in her passive-aggressive way until Amy is left with having to promise Marie that she will get right on those notes right away.
But first Amy needs a reminder of what it was that the friends gave her, since she and Robert got so many wonderful gifts. It turns out that it was a bright orange candle, with the wedding invitation melted into the side. “They sure were excited to give you that candle…” Marie tells her new daughter-in-law. “It would be a shame for them to not know how much you appreciated it, how much joy it brought you. I mean, you know, since they went to all the trouble to get you the perfect gift.” Marie is really laying it on thick, but it is clear from the look on Amy and Robbie’s faces that the bright orange candle was anything but a cherished momento of their day. We can figure out that it must be hideous—the kind of thing you hide in a closet and only bring out when you know that the gift-giver will be coming over. (Or so I’ve been told…) But still, Amy is cornered into writing a lovely sincere-sounding gratuitous thank you note, and writing it that day.
We find out about the note later in the episode when the candle-givers are having a conversation about the note with Frank and Marie. The wife in the couple tells Marie, “You know, we weren’t sure when you told us that a bright orange candle would be the perfect gift for Amy and Robert, but that note shows us that you sure were right to convince us to give them that. I mean, she went on and on about how beautiful that candle was! You sure do know your daughter-in-law well, Marie. She is so lucky to have you for a mother-in-law!”
“Yes, I sure do know both my daughters-in-law.” Said Marie with the self-satisfied look of the cat who ate the canary.
Sometimes the traditions and norms of a culture demand a thank you note for a gift you aren’t too sure of, or cannot quite yet see the possibilities in. I’ve been thinking this week about the nine healed lepers who went on their way showing themselves to the priests in order to be admitted into the worshipping community. What would it be like, I’ve wondered, to have my entire life changed in the ways that life was changed for the nine who continued on to the temple? I don’t think I can imagine what that was like—to one minute be such an outcast that I’d have to announce “Unclean, unlcean!” about myself when out in public, lest anyone accidentally come in contact with me, and then to suddenly be able to worship in the temple like everybody else—to stand before God in the presence of others like nothing had happened, just like I was normal. I’m just not sure I can wrap my head around that experience, given the social constructs in which I live.
It might be something like being imprisoned for your whole life, then being released and told to make your way in the world like every body else, even though that has not been your experience. Some members of society might expect undying gratitude from released captives and immediate compliance with social norms, when really, it must be a confusing shift. That might be why so many people released from prison re-offend in order to end up back in the system—back in a familiar place. Even though I can’t exactly relate to being a captive set free to the extent that the nine were, I know what its like to return to the familiar.
That’s why, even though my heart tells me that I’m supposed to emulate the one who turns back in this story, I can’t help but think I’m a little more like the nine in some ways. I believe in the transforming power of the gospel on my life and the lives of others. I believe that every time I turn to God and ask for healing and wholeness and for a change in my life, I believe that God is faithful to provide. I’m just somewhat a little overwhelmed by the gift and not quite sure what to do with it sometimes.
The one returns to Christ with thanksgiving pouring out of him, loudly and joyously proclaiming his healing and transformation and throws himself at the feet of the healer. I have to admit, that’s not my style. Obediently returning to the temple, presenting myself to the priest with trepidation, working through my anxiety at being made new—that seems more like how I would respond in this story. And judging by the way that Jesus tells the story in the first place, so would a lot of other people.
We are entering a season in the life of our congregation when we will consider faithfully our response of thanksgiving to God for all that God has provided in this place with this congregation and its ministries. I suppose I could get all Marie Barrone on you, reminding you to write God your thank you note in the form of your pledge card, in the hopes that you will respond to God’s gifts with shouts of praise and loud proclamation—and really generous pledges.
But something tells me that there is a better approach to stewardship than passive aggression. What if in the midst of living out our healed, transformed lives, even with trepidation, we pause to thank God each in our own way by prayerfully responding in commitment, not from a sense of obligation but from deep thankfulness that comes from the daily living in the wholeness that Christ offers? If we are of the nine, let us be the nine faithfully, living in community as restored beloved children of God, not thankful because we have to be , but because we may.
Thanks be to god!
