28th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2025
Several years ago, I read a wonderful book by Jesuit priest Father James Martin called Between Heaven and Mirth: Why Joy, Humor, and Laughter Are at the Heart of the Spiritual Life.
I loved that book. It reminded me that joy isn’t a distraction from faith — it’s a sign of it. God delights in His people, and holiness and humor can live side by side.
I was so moved by it that I decided to write Father Martin a short note, just to say thank you.
Nothing fancy — just a few lines of appreciation.
A couple of weeks later, I went to the mailbox and found a letter from him — a thank-you note for my thank-you note!
I laughed and thought, “Now wait a second — I’m not sure who’s thanking who anymore!”
That simple exchange of gratitude stuck with me. Because that’s what gratitude does — it connects us.
It doesn’t end with one person; it keeps circling back, deepening relationships, turning joy into communion.
And that’s exactly what happens in today’s Gospel.
Ten lepers are healed as they go to show themselves to the priests.
But one — just one — turns back. He’s the only one who lets gratitude complete the miracle.
He doesn’t just receive healing; he receives wholeness. He recognizes that the blessing isn’t just the clean skin — it’s the relationship with the One who made it possible.
Naaman in the first reading learns that same lesson. He plunges into the Jordan and comes up clean, but what really changes is his heart.
He says, “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel.”
Gratitude makes him a believer. His thanksgiving turns into faith.
And Paul, writing from prison, finds something to be grateful for even in chains.
“The word of God is not chained,” he says. Gratitude opens the heart to freedom even when the body isn’t free.
The Samaritan, Naaman, Paul — they all teach us that gratitude is more than good manners. It’s faith in motion. It’s what happens when we see the Giver behind the gift.
Every Sunday, we come here for the Eucharist — and that word means “thanksgiving.”
The Mass is the moment when we, too, turn back.
We remember what God has done for us — in our creation, our redemption, and all the quiet blessings of each day — and we say thank you.
It’s easy, though, to live like the other nine.
To take the gifts and keep walking.
To pray when we’re in need, and forget when the prayer is answered.
Gratitude calls us to stop, to turn around, to recognize grace and give thanks.
And here’s where my story comes full circle.
You may recall that a few weeks ago, Jackie Black, Starr Burke, and I were at a conference at Fordham University.
We got to the opening Mass early and sat in the back of a small chapel.
I turned to say something to Jackie, and noticed someone had just sat down beside her.
I looked over — and it was Father James Martin himself.
I blurted out, “Oh my gosh!”
We talked for a few minutes, and I told him about the book and the note and the thank-you letter he’d sent me.
He smiled and said, “You know, I think I remember that.”
That moment reminded me that gratitude always finds its way back around.
Sometimes years later, sometimes in unexpected places, sometimes in a small chapel in New York City.
Gratitude, like grace, never stops moving.
When we come to this altar, we are that one person who turns back. We remember, we give thanks, and in that act, we are made whole.
So maybe this week, let’s practice that turning back.
To thank the people who make our lives lighter, to thank God for blessings large and small — and to remember that every thank-you is really an act of faith.
Because gratitude doesn’t just end with us. It circles back — and somewhere along the way, we meet God again.
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