Infinite gratitude is not only an expectation but also a subtle and firm reminder to immigrants of their subordination and marginalization. The demand to profusely and enthusiastically express gratitude, even when confronted with discrimination and bias, creates a deeply dissonant immigrant experience.
A Familiar Story Revisited
Luke 17:11–19 tells a story we know well. Ten people with leprosy cry out to Jesus. He heals them all. Only one returns to give thanks—“and he was a Samaritan.”
Traditional interpretations celebrate this man’s behavior. Though he is the ultimate outsider, he returns to thank Jesus and is commended for his gratitude. We are often told, “Be like the Samaritan.”
He becomes the model of the good immigrant, the “docile and thankful ethnic other” who says and does the right things, adopting a posture of what I call “infinite gratitude.” Yet a closer reading reveals another layer.
The man’s ethnic otherness functions as a narrative device. It is highlighted and propped up as the token example of how a good foreigner should behave.
This text is not merely about gratitude. It is about power—about who must thank and who is to be thanked.
Luke’s deliberate emphasis on the Samaritan’s otherness teaches us how societies, ancient and modern, expect outsiders to perform. The foreigner who demonstrates gratitude correctly earns praise. In doing so, they are allowed to remain within the circle—as long as the gratitude remains constant and unending.
Cruel Optimism and Infinite Gratitude
Cultural theorist Lauren Berlant calls this kind of attachment “cruel optimism,” when the very thing we cling to for life also prevents us from truly living. For the Samaritan, gratitude becomes precisely that kind of attachment.
His healing, which should free him, paradoxically confines him. He is healed like the others, but unlike them, he cannot simply move on.
As the foreigner, he must return, fall at Jesus’ feet, raise his voice, and display the “right” kind of gratitude. His belonging now depends on this public act of devotion.
This is what I mean by infinite gratitude. It’s not a deep, inner well of thanksgiving freely offered, but an endless performance required of the outsider to remain within the system. It is the gratitude that never stops speaking, that must keep paying obeisance to secure belonging.
The Samaritan’s voice and posture say: “Thank you for letting me live, for letting me belong.” He must keep saying it, loudly and continually. The moment he stops, he is reminded that his inclusion was never a right—only a favor.
The Immigrant Who Always Has to Be Thankful
Immigrants know this story intimately.
We are expected to be grateful—for visas, for jobs, for the privilege of existing in spaces not built for us. Gratitude becomes both armor and leash.
Those who come “illegally” are vilified as ungrateful. Those who come “legally,” educated and employed, are treated with suspicion. “How did you get here and I didn’t?”
So we learn to survive through infinite gratitude. We thank and thank—in our classrooms, offices, pulpits, in our emails, and in our day-to-day lives. We smile wider, at times uncomfortably, and many times at the cost of our dignity and humanity. We praise institutions that barely make room for us.
We hope if we are grateful enough, compliant enough, then we will be allowed to stay. We must give thanks even when we are barely allowed in the room. We must smile even when reminded of our otherness.
This is cruel optimism in motion: the very opportunity that sustains our lives can also diminish them. The dream that promised freedom delivers what is sometimes called “psychotic loneliness,” a disconnection from home, from self, from any place where gratitude can be genuine rather than strategic.
Like the Samaritan, we are not passive victims. We choose, navigate, and persist. But we also know leaving systems built on conditional belonging can cost everything.
So we keep returning. We say, “thank you” infinitely.
Where Are the Nine?: Revelation, Not Reproach
Jesus’ question, “Were not ten cleansed? Where are the nine?” is often read as disappointment. Yet perhaps it is not incredulous at all, but revelatory.
“Where are the nine?” exposes the structure of belonging itself—who is counted, who responds, who is seen. The question unveils the hidden economy of gratitude, how it privileges some and binds others.
The Samaritan’s return is less about virtue and more about revelation. It is a spotlight on the imbalance between those who can take grace for granted and those who must continually earn it. The outsider must keep proving their worthiness of grace, while the insider moves through the world assuming they already possess it.
The text reminds us that for the ethnic “other,” grace is not freely received; it must be maintained. But for those inside the system, belonging is assumed— never questioned, never in danger of being revoked.
Refusing Gratitude
Infinite gratitude asks too much. It demands that we thank even those who wound us, that we smile while being erased.
Perhaps the real faith of the Samaritan lies not in returning to say thank you, but in daring to live healed—in claiming his wholeness without apology.
For those of us who know the cost of belonging, the most radical act may not be to offer gratitude, but to refuse its performance—to stand in our full humanity without proving it through endless appreciation.
Gratitude may be holy, but forced gratitude is not. Liberation begins when the “other” no longer has to say thank you just to exist.
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Dr. Sharon Jacob is a board member of Progressive Christianity and the Associate Professor of New Testament and Postcolonial Studies at Claremont School of Theology. Her research and writing explore the intersections of postcolonial theory, affect, and sacred texts, with a focus on interreligious dialogue and justice-oriented readings of scripture.
