Where are the other nine?

This is an old post from my now-defunct Myspace blog. I'm going to post some of the older postings in reverse chronological order to put a little meat on the bones of this puppy.

Originally posted on Tuesday, March 04, 2008.

The Gospels tell the story of ten lepers who came to Jesus to be healed. Jesus told them to show themselves to the priests. As they went, they were cured of their disease. One returned and threw himself at Jesus' feet giving thanks. Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they?" Luke 17:11-19. Ah, yes, the other nine. Cured of an incurable disease, but they don't have the time to say, "Gee, thanks. That whole miracle thing you do there, Jesus, that's pretty nifty."

I've had an interesting journey from my childhood in a strict fundamentalist Christian church. From there I went to college and studied Eastern religions and cultures a tiny bit. (Food for thought: apparently when we charge the Chinese with human rights abuses, they remind us that they take care of their elders while we throw them into nursing homes. Hmmm…) From Eastern religions I turned to study quite a bit of existentialism. "Man is condemned to be free," writes John Paul Sartre. Think about how fascinating that is. He believed we were condemned to be free… and not much else. Radical freedom. No expectations, no duties. (I fancied myself an existentialist at the time I took a trip to London with my boyfriend at the time Jeremy. I remember getting physically upset when he would ask people to take pictures of us with London landmarks in the background. "They don't owe us anything, Jeremy. You're infringing on their radical freedom to be left alone!" Fortunately, he offered up the camera anyway and some of those photos are now among my favorite memories. Thanks for ignoring me that time, Jer.) And while I still think existentialism can be a wonderful way to look at the world—and a great starting point—I've come to appreciate that even for the atheists among us, the world seems to operate better when we do expect some things from our fellow man and they follow through.

But how much should we give? A kidney? For a loved one? What about a stranger? Should we lay down our lives? My great-grandmother lived near the railroad in Pennsylvania. During the Depression, she realized she had it bad but that others had it even worse. (A remarkable realization in itself considering when she remarried upon the death of her first husband, her new husband immediately kicked out all of her children and forced them to fend for themselves. My grandmother was in seventh grade at the time and had to drop out of school, as her adorably awkward English skills bear testament.) Anyway, my great-grandma would leave her back door unlocked and any extra food on the table. Bums from the railroad would let themselves into her house and eat her leftovers. When they were done, they would wash the dishes and put them back. Some even scrawled thank you notes. I don't think I would trust the local bums in Chicago if I left my doors unlocked in 2008. I'm not sure I'd even want to give them leftover food if I knew they could be trusted. And I'm not sure if I should feel bad about that. Which brings be back to the lepers. No, really, I'm getting there.

I recently had a friend of a friend ask me for some legal advice. Lately, I've been putting in long days and weekends at the firm and don't have much time for sleep let alone helping others. But he got sued and asked for some help, so I spent several hours of my precious time researching the law for him, finding him local counsel who was qualified to help (and who, interestingly, had won a lawsuit against the very entity that was suing him), and sending him the results. Mind you, I had no intention of charging him. Hell, I'm not even sure I'd know how to do that without making him jump through all the hoops of becoming a client at the firm. All in all, I probably spent almost $1,000 of my brain's billable time to help. I e-mailed him the law and my analysis about two weeks ago. I have yet to receive a "thank you."

I guess if I were a slightly more religious person, I'd remind myself that God recognizes our good works even if those upon whom we bestow them do not. Or I could just use the secularized notion of karma to pat myself on the back. But I can't help but think that every time I do something nice for someone who cannot take two seconds out of his or her day to extend a "thank you," it makes me less and less inclined to help in the future. Time is precious. And when you're at the bottom of the totem pole in the law firm, even more so.

There's a wonderful story from the Depression era that's probably folklore but I love the message it sends regardless. A rabbi was riding in a train with his arm out the window. His glove flew off and he immediately reached for his other glove, ripped it off his hand, and threw it out the window as well. A person sitting near him asked why on Earth he would do such a thing. He replied, "That way the person who finds it will have a pair."

As a society I think we're past leftovers for bums and free gloves for those who walk along train tracks. But can we get a "thank you" in the house? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Am I reaching for the stars here, people?