The Ten Percent Solution: The Grammar of Gratitude Text: Luke 17:11-19
Introduction: The Engine of Ungodliness
The apostle Paul, in the first chapter of his letter to the Romans, puts his finger directly on the pulsing, black heart of all human rebellion against God. He tells us that the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men. And what is the foundational evidence of this ungodliness? What is the engine that drives the whole sorry project of paganism? Paul gives us two things, and they are inextricably linked. He says that "when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful" (Rom. 1:21). That is it. That is the taproot of all our misery. First, a refusal to honor God for who He is. Second, a refusal to thank Him for what He has done. All the idolatry, all the sexual chaos, all the foolishness that follows is simply the logical outworking of this foundational ingratitude.
We live in a generation that is drowning in blessings and yet is determined to be miserable. We have more comfort, more food, more medicine, more technology, and more entertainment than any people in the history of the world, and we are perhaps the most discontented, anxious, and querulous people in that same history. We are rich, and we are wretched. And the reason is that we are ingrates. Ingratitude is not a minor personality flaw; it is a theological declaration of war. It is the creature shaking his fist at the Creator and saying, "You owe me this. And more."
The story before us in Luke's gospel is a living parable of this very point. It is a story about healing, to be sure, but it is more profoundly a story about worship. It is a story that distinguishes between those who merely want the benefits of God and those who want God Himself. It is a story that shows us the difference between a clean skin and a saved soul. Ten men are made physically whole, but only one is made spiritually whole. Ten men receive a gift, but only one turns back to glorify the Giver. And in this, we are meant to see that true, saving faith is always, necessarily, and fundamentally grateful faith. The nine are a picture of a religion of entitlement. The one is a picture of the religion of grace.
And as Luke so often does, he places a despised outsider at the center of the story to shame the insiders. The one who gets it right is the one everyone expected to get it wrong. This is God's regular method. He chooses the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and the weak things to shame the strong, so that no flesh should glory in His presence. God's grace is designed to strip us of all our prideful boasting and leave us with nothing but a song of thanksgiving.
The Text
And it happened that while He was on the way to Jerusalem, He was passing through Samaria and Galilee. And as He entered a village, ten leprous men who stood at a distance met Him. And they raised their voices, saying, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" When He saw them, He said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." And it happened that as they were going, they were cleansed. Now one of them, when he saw that he had been healed, turned back, glorifying God with a loud voice, and he fell on his face at His feet, giving thanks to Him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus answered and said, "Were there not ten cleansed? But the nine, where are they? Was there no one found who turned back to give glory to God, except this foreigner?" And He said to him, "Stand up and go; your faith has saved you."
(Luke 17:11-19 LSB)
A Common Misery and a Correct Plea (vv. 11-13)
We begin with the setting and the cry for help.
"And it happened that while He was on the way to Jerusalem, He was passing through Samaria and Galilee. And as He entered a village, ten leprous men who stood at a distance met Him. And they raised their voices, saying, 'Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!'" (Luke 17:11-13)
Jesus is on His final journey to Jerusalem, steadfastly set to go to the cross. His path takes him through the borderlands between Samaria and Galilee, a region of mixed peoples and mutual animosity. And here, a shared misery creates an unlikely fellowship. Leprosy was a terrifying disease, a living death. According to the Mosaic law, lepers were ritually unclean. They had to wear torn clothes, let their hair be unkempt, cover their mouths, and cry out, "Unclean, unclean!" whenever anyone approached. They were to live alone, outside the camp (Lev. 13:45-46). This disease was a potent physical picture of sin: it isolates, it corrupts, and it leads to death.
This shared sentence of excommunication had erased the normal social boundaries. In this pathetic community of outcasts, there were Jews and at least one Samaritan. In any other circumstance, a Jew would have no dealings with a Samaritan. But a common catastrophe has made them companions. They are united in their uncleanness.
They stood "at a distance," as the law required. But from that distance, they make exactly the right appeal. They raise their voices together and cry, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" They don't demand justice. They don't present a resume of their qualifications. They don't claim they deserve healing. They cry out for sheer, unadulterated mercy. They recognize Jesus' authority, calling him "Master," and they cast themselves entirely on His compassion. This is the only place for a sinner to begin. This is the cry of every man who has come to recognize his own spiritual leprosy. We have nothing to offer, nothing to commend ourselves. Our only hope is in the mercy of the Master.
Faith in Motion (v. 14)
Jesus' response is a command, and the healing is tied to their obedience to that command.
"When He saw them, He said to them, 'Go and show yourselves to the priests.' And it happened that as they were going, they were cleansed." (Luke 17:14)
Jesus does not touch them. He does not pronounce them clean on the spot. He gives them a command that requires them to act in faith. The Mosaic law stipulated that if a leper was healed, he had to present himself to the priest for inspection. The priest would then verify the healing and preside over the ceremonies that would restore the man to the life of the covenant community (Leviticus 14). So for Jesus to tell them to go to the priests was for them to act as if they were already healed, when as yet there was no visible evidence of it. They were still covered in sores. Their skin was still ravaged.
This is a test of faith. It is one thing to believe when you can see. It is another thing entirely to obey when all the evidence seems to contradict the promise. This is the nature of biblical faith. It is not a vague feeling; it is obedient trust. It is stepping out on the Word of God before the results are apparent. And notice the result: "it happened that as they were going, they were cleansed." The miracle occurred in the act of obedience. As they put their faith into shoe leather, as they walked toward the temple, the power of Christ flowed into them, and their flesh was restored like that of a little child.
All ten of them had this initial, obedient faith. All ten of them believed Jesus enough to start walking. And all ten of them received the physical blessing attached to that obedience. But for nine of them, that is where the story ends.
The Anatomy of True Worship (vv. 15-16)
Here we see the great separation. One man's healing leads not just to the priest, but back to the true High Priest.
"Now one of them, when he saw that he had been healed, turned back, glorifying God with a loud voice, and he fell on his face at His feet, giving thanks to Him. And he was a Samaritan." (Luke 17:15-16)
This is the heart of the passage. Look at the anatomy of this man's response. First, he saw that he was healed. He didn't just feel it; he recognized it. He perceived what had happened to him. Second, he turned back. The nine continued on their way, focused on the process, on the ritual restoration. This man turned around to go back to the source. The nine were interested in the gift. He was interested in the Giver. Third, he was glorifying God with a loud voice. His gratitude was not a quiet, internal sentiment. It was explosive, public, and directed Godward. This is doxology. Fourth, he fell on his face at His feet. This is the posture of absolute submission, humility, and worship. He prostrates himself before Jesus. Fifth, he was giving thanks to Him. The Greek word is euchariston, from which we get our word Eucharist. He was offering a sacrifice of thanksgiving.
This man, in a spontaneous eruption of Spirit-filled gratitude, performs a perfect act of worship. He sees the grace of God, he turns from his own agenda to seek the presence of God, he glorifies God, he humbles himself before God, and he thanks God. This is the liturgy of a saved soul.
And then Luke drops the bomb: "And he was a Samaritan." He was a half-breed, a heretic, a foreigner to the covenants of promise. He was the one who, by all the religious calculations of the day, should have been the last to understand. But it is the outsider who truly sees. The nine Jewish lepers were now clean Jews. They could be restored to the temple, to their families, to their nation. They got what they wanted. This Samaritan, even though he was clean, was still a Samaritan. He would not be welcomed in the temple. But he had found something better than the temple; he had found the God of the temple. He had found the living Lord.
A Rebuke and a Commendation (vv. 17-19)
Jesus' response reveals the deep meaning of this event.
"Then Jesus answered and said, 'Were there not ten cleansed? But the nine, where are they? Was there no one found who turned back to give glory to God, except this foreigner?' And He said to him, 'Stand up and go; your faith has saved you.'" (Luke 17:17-19)
Jesus' questions are full of a divine sorrow. "Were there not ten cleansed?" The grace was extended to all. The power was demonstrated for all. "But the nine, where are they?" They have the gift, but they have forgotten the Giver. They are so preoccupied with their newfound cleanliness, so eager to get on with their lives, that they neglect the one to whom they owe their lives. They are practical atheists. They wanted God for what He could do for them, and having gotten it, they have no more use for Him. This is the essence of ingratitude. It is the sin of treating God like a cosmic vending machine.
Notice what Jesus says they failed to do: "give glory to God." This is precisely what Paul identified in Romans 1. The failure to give thanks is a failure to glorify God. And it is the "foreigner," the outsider, who does what the covenant insiders failed to do. This is a stinging rebuke to a religion of ethnic privilege and entitlement.
Then Jesus speaks the final word to the Samaritan. "Stand up and go; your faith has saved you." The other nine were cleansed. This man was saved. The Greek word here is sozo, which means to save, to make whole, to deliver. The nine received a physical healing. This man received a spiritual, eternal salvation. What was the evidence of this saving faith? It was his gratitude. His faith was not just the initial trust that made him start walking to the priest. His faith was the root that produced the fruit of a worshipful, thankful, humble heart that turned him back to Jesus. The nine had a temporary faith for a temporary blessing. This man had a saving faith that resulted in eternal life.
Conclusion: Saved for Thanksgiving
This story is a mirror. In it, we must see ourselves. We are all lepers, unclean and isolated by our sin. We are all without hope apart from the mercy of the Master. And the gospel is the good news that Jesus has come, and by His word, He can make us clean. His death on the cross and His resurrection from the dead is the ultimate cleansing power for the leprosy of our sin.
But the question this story presses upon us is this: what is our response to this grace? Is it the response of the nine, or the response of the one? It is possible to be part of the visible church, to receive the outward benefits of the covenant, to be "cleansed" by baptism and association, and yet to have a heart that has never truly turned back to Christ in worshipful gratitude. This is the religion of the consumer. It is a religion that asks, "What's in it for me?" It treats God as a means to an end, the end being a better life, a happier family, or a ticket out of hell.
The religion of the Samaritan is altogether different. It is the religion of the worshiper. It sees the gift, to be sure, but it is overwhelmed by the Giver. It understands that the greatest gift God gives us is Himself. True salvation does not terminate on the blessings; it terminates on the Blesser. A saved soul is a thankful soul. And a thankful soul is a soul that glorifies God, falls at the feet of Jesus, and offers up the Eucharist, the constant sacrifice of thanksgiving.
Therefore, let us examine ourselves. Has the grace of God in Christ made us grateful? Does it cause us to turn back, again and again, from our own pursuits to fall at His feet? Does it produce in us a loud voice of praise? If not, we may have been cleansed of some outward problems, but we have not been saved. But if it has, then we have heard the same words spoken to us that were spoken to that Samaritan: "Stand up and go; your faith has saved you." And our going will be a life of thanksgiving.