In 2010, my friend and New York Times bestselling author, Steve Dublanica, wrote his second book, Keep the Change, wherein the former-seminarian-turned-waiter-turned-author made the case for consistent generosity across the board for front-of-house staff at restaurants. These are the men and women who are famously paid below the minimum wage in the expectation that they would make up the difference, and more, through tips for good food and good service. It’s hard to imagine that just 14 years ago a book like that would need to be written, or that people would find his admonitions both convicting and jocular.

Fast forward to the present day: Tipping etiquette has morphed into tipping presumption. There is a metastasized expectation that you will gladly pay 20% more for whatever you’re buying, in the form of a tip to the clerk, no matter how miniscule their part of the transaction was. And if not a monetary tip, many salespeople have no qualms enjoining you to post a 5-star review about their service on Google or Yelp. The sense of entitlement is palpable. In both instances, they are staring you right in the eye and daring you not to tip them, or not to promise rave reviews about them online before the transaction has even concluded.

To me, it feels like the pastor is taking up the Sunday collection personally and eyeing what each congregant puts into the plate. At least the rideshare services let you get out of sight before you both tip and rate the driver. Yet so widespread is this phenomenon, that now even the owners of many establishments spin that finger-signed credit card machine around to the customer, expecting to be tipped for working in their own businesses.

The opening sentence of the recent declaration from the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, Dignitas Infinita, states, “Every human person possesses an infinite human dignity, inalienably grounded in his or her very being …” While this is theologically true, it seems our behavior toward one another belies a serious disbelief in that proposition. This is evident from something as simple as “de-friending” social media contacts (or actual friends and relatives) for having the wrong beliefs, to the far more egregious antisocial melt downs on airplanes, to the downright dangerous political violence we see on American streets and college campuses. It seems to me that now more than ever people take the utmost umbrage at the slightest of slights, whether they were intended or not.

One of the other, seemingly benign, second-order effects of this denigration of the other is the rise of the selfie generation. People who feel unseen or unappreciated are obsessed with taking pictures of themselves and then projecting them for the world to see. There are many people you know of only through their carefully curated TikTok videos and Instagram posts. Theirs is a smiley-faced plea that says, “I am somebody and I deserve respect.” 

For the Church, dignity is inherent, regardless of one’s social status. It is our Imago Dei. For too many in our coarsening culture, dignity is not presumed or offered, it’s demanded, and bestowed by the crowd through a combination of participation trophies, upvotes, internet views and entire months dedicated to celebrating one’s existence. The more we feel our lack of dignity, the more we demand it in inappropriate ways. The more we force respect, the less dignified we feel when we finally get that which was coerced. It’s like an insincere apology.

Since I’m in the military and live on base, I do most of my food shopping at the commissary. It’s an age-old military tradition that the teenage children of the active-duty work as baggers at the commissary. They not only bag our groceries but they also transport them to our cars and place them inside the vehicles. There are always signs that remind us, “Baggers work for tips.” They don’t even get the below-minimum-wage salary of a waiter. Since I know this, I usually carry cash when I go shopping. However, every once in a while, I decide at the last minute, as I’m driving past the commissary, to pick up a few items even though I don’t have my billfold on me. When this used to happen, I was always extra apologetic for not tipping the baggers for their services. Once a wise young 16-year-old girl said to me, “That’s okay, sir. A simple ‘Thank you’ will do.” Ever since then, that’s what I do when I’m caught without cash. I look them in the eye and say, “Thank you. I’ll get you next time.” And I do.

Both the Old and New Testaments are replete with teachings about humility, merit, our standing before God, and how we ought to regard ourselves in relation to others. While these teachings form the bedrock of much of our morality, they are also stark reminders of how we should understand what is owed to us, what it is we actually deserve.

Spoiler alert: We don’t come out on the plus side of that ledger. And yet, as our faith affirms, we are loved and have intrinsic value in the eyes of our Lord, anyway.

My father modeled generosity to me. But he also worked hard and liked to get what he paid for. He really loved a deal. This apple didn’t fall far from that tree, especially the latter part. While I fear the day when Father Abraham points out to me how many times I walked past the beggar Lazarus in this life, I am still calling for a greater measure of heartfelt generosity on the one hand, and sincere gratitude on the other. Obligatory generosity is just as hollow as forced gratitude in return.

Perhaps Steve Dublanica’s next book about food service and tipping can be called Dignity?