GRATITUDE IS TO RETURN, TO GIVE THANKS, AND TO FOLLOW

There are moments in life when healing arrives like dawn after a long night. It surprises us. It humbles us. But the Gospel today reminds us that healing is not the end—it is only the beginning. In the story of the ten lepers, all ten are cured, yet only one returns. Only one is moved to give thanks and come back to the One who healed him. And that one, we’re told, was a Samaritan—someone doubly marginalized by illness and ethnicity. Yet it is he who hears these words of Jesus: “Your faith has saved you.”

This Gospel strikes me deeply because I know what it is to cry out to God from a place of pain and helplessness. Years ago, during Super Typhoon Yolanda, both my parents died. I was in Manila and couldn’t go home to Tacloban. Flights were canceled. Power was down. Roads were blocked by fallen trees and debris. All I could do was wait and pray. One day, while volunteering at Philippine General Hospital (PGH), I went into the chapel and knelt before the crucifix, completely at a loss for words. I had nothing left to offer but my tears. In the stillness, I gazed at Jesus on the cross—broken, abandoned, and suffering. It was as though He was saying to me, “James, I know your pain. I am with you in all these.” I wept profusely because even in my grief and helplessness, I felt a deep reassurance that God is with me.

That moment didn’t take away the pain, but it transformed me. Like Naaman washing in the Jordan, like the Samaritan leper who returned to give thanks, that was when healing began—quietly, almost imperceptibly. It was then that my discernment started to take root—not through my own strength, but through trust and surrender. I felt God’s profound reassurance that He was with me, and out of deep gratitude, I was moved to respond freely to His call.

In the First Reading, we hear of Naaman’s healing. He is a powerful man. A foreigner. A commander. Yet his healing does not come through influence or wealth. It comes through obedience and humility. He is asked to do something strange—to bathe in the Jordan River. Only when he lets go of his pride does healing happen. But even more beautiful is what comes after. He doesn’t just get healed—he is converted. He asks for soil from Israel, not as a souvenir but as a sign of his new faith and belonging. His gratitude becomes a way of life.

Gratitude is not just an emotion. It is a decision. A change in direction. It is the choice to return, to give thanks, to follow. Today, we are invited to reflect on those who, like Naaman and the Samaritan, have long stood at the margins—especially our Indigenous brothers and sisters. They lived in harmony with the land long before colonizers arrived. They cared for creation with deep wisdom. Yet for centuries they have been ignored, excluded, and silenced. Their rights have been trampled, their cultures dismissed. Many still cry out today, waiting to be seen, heard, and healed.

This Sunday is also the International Day for the Eradication of Extreme Poverty. We are reminded that in a world of abundance, many still go to bed hungry, unheard, and unseen. The poor are not statistics. They are people—mothers, fathers, children, elders—carrying wounds not only in their bodies but also in their spirits. And yet many of them live with a faith and courage that humbles us.

Saint Paul, in the Second Reading, says something powerful: “The word of God is not chained.” No suffering, no injustice, no poverty can silence God’s word. The Word continues to go forth—into prisons, broken homes, hospital wards, faraway mountain villages, and the hearts of those whom the world has forgotten.

My own journey from grief to grace, from loss to purpose, is just a small echo of what the Scriptures proclaim today: God hears the cry of the poor. He sees the wounded and the weary. He comes close to those others keep at a distance. And when He heals, He doesn’t only restore bodies. He restores dignity. He invites us into a relationship. He calls us to return, to give thanks, and to follow Him.