What am I thankful for? Hey, thanks for asking. I am thankful I am not a dentist. Yesterday at the Thanksgiving Feast for our preschool students, I was seated at the head of the table, in one of those tiny Sunday School chairs. I was thankful for two things. I didn't break the chair and I was able to stand up again. Some of parents were present, and at least two camcorders with the film rolling. My job as the theologian-in-residence was to talk about giving thanks to God. It started badly: "Kids, what holiday are we celebrating?" No response. Nobody would talk to me. "What are you thankful for?" The fellowship hall echoed with their silence; all I could hear was the whirring of the camcorders. I finally hit my stride when I put the question this way: "If I gave you a piece of candy, what would you say"? Forget the little girl at the far end of the table who said, "I don't like candy." The rest of the kids, one-by-one, said if I gave them candy, they would say, "Thank you." On cue. But even as I asked each child the question, I was thinking about how each set of parents taught these youngsters, "Never take candy from a stranger." When I coaxed my final thank you, I grabbed my cookies and locked myself in my office. So tonight I am thankful I'm not a dentist ... because getting the kids to say "thank you" on cue was like pulling teeth - and that's hard work!

I wonder if God is pleased when we say "thank you" on cue? My guess is that God loves a cheerful heart and an ongoing attitude of gratitude, but if people only remember to say "thank you" at half-time on the Fourth Thursday of November well, I'm guessing that knowing God as well as I hope I do, I'm guessing even for those few kernels of gratitude around the Thanksgiving table, our God is willing to settle for as little for that. But God desires more.

Believe me, I'm not putting those three-year-olds down as ungrateful. In her eighty-two years that God assigned Marge Kennedy the sometimes thankless task of being my mother, there is a constant refrain from her lips to my ears: "Did you send out the thank you cards yet?" Most of you learned it from your parents and try to impart it to your own kids: "Did you send out the thank cards yet?" My answer was usually, "Almost. I'm almost ready." My way of saying, "Thanks for reminding me." So, I'm not putting down our preschoolers by any means; I wasn't always so good with the thank you on cue ... and my mother too was glad she wasn't a dentist.

On this Thanksgiving Eve, once again I play the role, not of a dentist, but a cardiologist, trying to make sense of the hearts of ten lepers; digging to discern, what makes them tick? Jesus puts forth a rhetorical question to no one in particular, "Were there not ten lepers healed?" He knew there were ten lepers healed even as he recognized only one turned to return thanks. I'm intrigued by that one, but not puzzled. That tenth leper had an innate attitude of gratitude - and when people possess such an attitude, they often go beyond the attitude to the expression of it. When your hearts is grateful - your lips say thanks! Not because you are expected to, but because if you don't express your gratitude you'd almost explode for the holding it in. Are you such a person? Surely the tenth leper was.

Tenth leper. Isn't that awful? Me calling him the tenth leper? This man is not his diagnosis. He is a man. This man is not his disease. he is a man. And what is so onerous about leprosy is that society labels them and pushes them into some lonely ghetto. If not actual, than emotional. Jesus never does that. And so when these men afflicted with leprosy cry out for a little mercy ... most likely they are asking the question of Jesus, "Got milk? Just a pint will do, Jesus. The milk of compassion. The milk of human kindness. The milk of recognition that I am not my diagnosis. I am not my disease. I live and breathe and my name is Jacob, or Simeon, or Isaac or Seth." And Jesus has more than the mere milk of human kindness. Jesus gives them his full attention ... Jesus works for them a cure. And as the law of Moses demanded, Jesus commanded, "Go show yourself to a priest," because only a priest could pronounce that cure. Moses demanded. Jesus commanded. One man, and only one, disobeyed. You see, even though all ten recognized they were cured ... the one with gratitude in his heart did not journey to a priest to get his certificate of good health. He made a U-turn toward the Source of his healing. His mama had taught him well. "Did you send out the thank you cards?" He never need to be reminded.

In the first century, the great Rabbi Hillel lived in Jerusalem at the time of Jesus. He was known for his kindness, his gentleness, and his concern for humanity. One of his most famous sayings is, "I walk, I fall down, I get up. Meanwhile, I keep dancing." I cannot picture a distinguished rabbi saying such a thing ... but if it's true, that raises my admiration for distinguished rabbis! "I walk, I fall down, I get up. Meanwhile, I keep dancing." And surely this was the attitude of Jacob, or Simeon, or Isaac or Seth - or whatever the name of the man once laid low with leprosy. "Meanwhile, I keep on dancing." Nothing, not even his diagnosis (not even his diagnosis!), caused him to cease from dancing. Do I know this for sure? Not really. But I have been taught by enough people around these parts who have been dealt cards of a bad diagnosis - and I have seen them walking, and falling, and getting up ... and dancing.

Surely Jacob, or Simeon, or Isaac or Seth ... whatever his name, surely he knew he had been dealt a bad hand. Nevertheless, I am convinced he kept a song in his heart and that is why he was ready, more-than-ready, when new cards were dealt, and a new situation arose. The Rabbi Jesus dealt those cards with the words, "'Go, show yourselves to the priests. And as they went, they were cleansed.'"

I had a talk with Mil Bauerlein this morning. Some of you know Mil. If you don't this must be your first worship experience with Grace. Welcome! More seriously, Mil was telling me about Elizabeth, and that after round-upon-round of treatment, the chemo has taken a toll on Liz's lungs. Elizabeth has a particular concern as a result of her most recent treatment. In her shoes, most of us would a cornucopia of concerns ... but I'm betting none of our concerns would mirror that of Elizabeth. Her concern is that the chemo may hinder her ability to ... to what? To breathe easily? Is that Elizabeth's concern? To hold her breath, turn blue, and get her own way? Is that the concern of Elizabeth? No her concern is her singing. We're crying for Elizabeth and she's concerned about singing for us! "She walks, she falls down, she gets up. Meanwhile, she keeps singing."

We sang a hymn last Sunday afternoon during the Memorial Service for Barbara Pisiak. "How Can I Keep from Singing?" A beautiful hymn, a melody in the heart of the man cured of leprosy ... even before the cure. How do I know? I don't for sure but I do know that gratitude does not come out-of-the blue ... there is always an attitude preceding. In a similar way I'm guessing "How Can I Keep from Singing?" is the melody in the heart of Elizabeth, enabling her to get through the most dreadful of days. Surely it is the hymn of Thanksgiving for every one of us ... cleansed as we are from "sin, death, and the power of evil," by the grace of God and the power of the Cross. Oh yes, sisters and brothers, "How Can we Keep from Singing?"