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Coming home from
the Royal Oak’s Farmers’ Market along about 9:30 yesterday
morning, the lovely lady I live with was overheard to say:
"Let’s see, we’ve got brussels sprouts, new potatoes,
sweet potatoes, green beans for the casserole, shrimp for the
appetizer….Becky said she would bring the dessert….I’ve
got everything but the turkey. Unless, that is, you want me to
get a ham." Which I don’t. Although I’ll concede that
a ham might be easier than a turkey. I don’t really think
Kris wants a ham. And I know Julie doesn’t want a ham. So I
guess I’ll have to go out to the woods this afternoon and
"bag" us a turkey.
Which certainly
isn’t biblical. I went so far as to look up the word
"turkey" in a biblical encyclopedia last week, where
it wasn’t. It should have been right between
"turban" (an ornamental Egyptian head covering made
of fine linen, later adopted by the Jews as the headgear of
the High Priest) and "turtle dove" (a smallish
pigeon used in Temple cultic sacrifices).
Turbans and turtle
doves….but no turkeys. Biblically speaking, we’d be better
off with a leg of lamb on Thursday (or a roast from the fatted
calf). But for me and my house, it’ll be turkey. Which was
also the bird of choice for my colleague who serves in a rural
area out-state. He penned a live one in his yard, well before
the holiday….fed it grains and cereals to fatten it up….
saw his kids give it a name and render it tame….all the
while maintaining that it wouldn’t faze him one iota to take
an axe to its neck when the day arrived. Thanksgiving came.
Thanksgiving went. And everyone enjoyed the turkey for dinner….seated,
as he was, next to my friend’s brother-in-law.
I begin lightly,
intentionally. Because we Christians have a reputation of not
being satisfied until we have taken every holiday and sucked
the joy out of it by at least fifty percent. Preachers,
especially, are seen as holiday-dampeners, seeming to suggest
that we will never get the "true meaning" of it,
unless we take the fun and pleasure from it.
Instead, I would
turn you to no less a giant of the spiritual life than Teresa
of Avila, who is fond of reminding Christians that "there
is a time for penance and a time for partridge"…."penance"
having to do with falling and failing, "partridge"
having to do with feasting. Therefore, in the spirit of St.
Teresa, let me declare Thursday to be a day for feasting….meaning,
have the partridge (roasted on the platter, not seated next to
your brother-in-law). And if there be moments taken for
serious reflection, let someone remember another of Teresa’s
magnificent aphorisms, "that the most serious business of
heaven is joy."
Or, if you resist
being taught by a Catholic, consider the Hasidic Jews, who are
almost off-the-charts when it comes to orthodoxy. To all
outward appearances, it would appear that their mood is as
black as their suits. But that would be wrong. For even though
they pay strict adherence to Torah law and Sabbath ritual, I
am told that they have a stated commitment to taking joy in
this world as it is….in life in this world as it is….and
in every hour of life in this world as it is.
Can you and I do
that this Thanksgiving? That’s what everybody seems to be
asking. Or has too much happened for the holiday to do its
work in us (or have its way with us)? Nancy Gibbs, who
authored that marvelous essay in Time Magazine entitled
"We Gather Together," says that this is just the
kind of holiday we need right now…. "an intricately
complicated one that comes at the end of a bitter harvest and
yet finds something sweet to celebrate." "For the
first time in a long time," she writes, "we are now
pilgrims, finding ourselves stripped down to bare essentials
and a single carry-on bag to sustain us in this strange new
world." So it should be no surprise that people are
making a special effort to get home this year….dust off the
fine china….unfold the good napkins….and make time for a
sometimes-messy conversation with the people who know us best.
"This is the year," she adds, "when we will
find out how we are doing on the character test. Namely, have
the events of autumn left us hardened or humbled….bitter
over what we have lost, or grateful for all that we have left
(which we, until recently, took for granted)?"
On one hand, the
Bible commands gratitude, quite apart from whether we feel it
or not. I remember once telling my mother that I shouldn’t
have to write a thank-you note for a shirt I didn’t like and
wouldn’t wear….even if hell froze over and I had to face
its icy blasts bare-chested. What my mother said to me was as
memorable as it was unpreachable. So you can bet I wrote the
note (even though, sticking to my principles, I never wore the
shirt).
Saying
"thanks" was something I was taught to do. And for
that lesson, I am grateful. For I learned that good behavior
is not necessarily feeling-based….meaning that life requires
you to do things that do not always come easily, naturally or
genuinely. Sometimes you say "thank you" because
"thank you" is called for.
In my survey of
biblical literature, I learned that gratitude was once a
required ritual. King David even appointed Levitical priests
to "invoke and thank the Lord" (I Chronicles 16:4)….a
practice continued by Solomon, Hezekiah, clear unto the
returning exiles from Assyria. In other words, the Hebrew
kings appointed priests as quasi-secretaries to write the
people’s thank you notes to God.
But while at least
half the biblical references to giving thanks appear as
mandates ("do it because it’s time to do it, not
because you feel like doing it"), the other half suggest
more spontaneous forms of gratitude….ones that arise from
us, quite apart from prior thought or intentionality. Such
gratitude is described as an expression too insistent to deny,
or a feeling too big to contain. In those instances, the Bible
suggests that gratitude owes more to an overflowing heart than
it owes to an obedient will.
So how is your
heart this Thanksgiving….humbled or hardened? Humbled, I
hope. Times are tougher than we thought. Life is harder than
we thought. Security is more fragile than we thought. Tomorrow
is more imperiled than we thought. Nancy Gibbs is right. For
the first time in a long time, we do have more in common with
the pilgrims than we thought.
But isn’t there
a connection between gratitude and deprivation? Doesn’t food
always taste better when we’ve been starving for a while….health
always feel dearer when we’ve been suffering for a while….the
beloved always seem sweeter when we’ve been separated for a
while? You would think it would be simple to feel gratitude
when satiated….when the good life, good stuff, good folks
and good times just keep coming and coming, like a waterfall
of bounty that fills our cup and drenches our souls. Except I
have never found it to be so. Instead, life’s preciousness
is always seen for what it is, when we know it is fragile and
fleeting….when we know it will not last….when we know
"they" will not last. So, in the words of William
Blake, "kiss the joy as it flies." In a world where
somebody can go off on a plane and not come home….go off to
war and not come home….even go off to work and not come home….I
suspect that some of us are giving a little more thought to
"home" than we did just a few months ago. For if
September 11 has taught us nothing else, it has driven home a
pair of lessons….that crisis can serve as a catalyst for
reconciliation….and that the only antidote for fear of the
enemy that we don’t know is love for friends that we do. In
the face of terror, very few of us think: "If only I’d
made one more widget, merged one more company, or sued one
more client." Instead, we think about relationships….
those that need tending and those that need mending. Which
includes, for some of us, the relationship we have with God
and the church.
I had an
incredibly moving thing happen yesterday following a funeral
in our sanctuary. The woman who died was four years my junior
and, for 13 years, my neighbor. I hadn’t seen her much in
recent years. The last time was nine months ago, when I buried
her first-ever grandchildren….twin girls, born too soon….born
too small….born too undeveloped to survive. But before the
spirit that was in them, left them, I held and baptized them.
They were like a pair of Barbie dolls in my hand. Except they
didn’t then, and never would, look like Barbie. Their
grandmother said good-bye to them nine months ago. Then, nine
days ago….on a Friday…. she and her husband drove to Big
Rapids and said good-bye to her dad. After the funeral,
everybody in the family came back to the old homestead on
Highway 131 and had one of the best evenings they could
remember….everybody together for the first time in 20 years.
They shared laughter and tears, stories and memories. Along
with food. Followed by sleep. Until 3:00 in the morning, that
is, when she had the heart attack that took her home for good.
We had her service
yesterday. We gave thanks for her 57 years. We called her
"the glue of the family." We told her story. We
offered God’s promise. We sang "Amazing Grace."
And then we put her casket into the wagon. After which a
cousin approached me in the hall. Struggling to get out a
word, she told me about 20 long years outside the church. No
faith. No worship. No nothing. "I used to sit in the pew
and daydream," she said. "Today, I sat in the pew
and was transfixed. It’s like I was riveted to your every
word. Even if I never see you again, thank you for making God
and the church a possibility for my life."
Except it wasn’t
me, don’t you see. I was just the one at the microphone when
everything in her came bubbling to the surface….need….hurt….hunger….loss….and
(yes) gratitude. Everything that could have hardened her,
humbled her. And ripened her. To the point of splitting her
open….which is when a lot of things can work their way out….but
which is also when a lot of other things can work their way
in. Over and over again, all she could say was: "Thank
you…. thank you….thank you." And, through her tears,
she was smiling.
Terrible stuff
happens to people. Even to you. And you can be angry, I
suppose. But, says Frederick Luskin of Stanford (who conducts
forgiveness workshops around the country): "I’ve had
any number of patients say to me that it’s hard to take a
grudge seriously when you look at the World Trade
Center." To which I would ask….even a grudge against
God?
Paul, writing from
a Roman prison, tells the Colossians to "abound in
thanksgiving"….even though, circumstantially speaking,
it wasn’t a very good time for the Colossians and an even
worse time for Paul. But, then, maybe gratitude is easier when
the glass is nearly empty than when the glass is nearly full.
More people, I suspect, count and remember their blessings
when they can use their fingers rather than a calculator.
Pondering all of
this yesterday morning, before setting pen to paper yesterday
afternoon, I thought:
How sweet it is
that it is sunny this late in the year….that, one more
time, Julie will be home for Thanksgiving and my folks will
still be here….that the crimson geraniums from last May’s
"Now’s Our Chance" campaign are still alive in
my yard, along with one incredibly gutsy pink rose that is
going to vie with the geraniums for the title "Best of
Show" or "First in Snow."
And then there
is the tree on the other side of my yard….the tall,
stately Bradford Pear….the only tree with leaves….all
its leaves….all its throbbing-with- life, brilliantly-red
leaves….and then recalling that Toni Segitz gave us that
tree, seven years ago, in memory of Bill.
Wandering
through the Farmers’ Market, I realized that for a mere
ten dollar bill, I could buy enough morel mushrooms to mix
with some scrambled eggs, thus producing instant
"heaven on a plate" some cold winter’s morning.
And knowing that I had (in my possession) the ten bucks for
the morels…. sufficient taste buds to enjoy to morels….and
the capacity to appreciate "forkfuls of heaven"
until the real thing comes along.
I also have work
that still needs doing….good people to do it with….and,
as yet, a burning desire to keep on doing it (when it would
be so easy, so tempting and so understandable to mail it in
from some far-off zip code of the spirit).
And, last night,
there were a few friends to celebrate my wife’s birthday
(which is today)….along with the fact that she has a
birthday….and that she is my wife.
Do I deserve all
of it….any of it….more of it….or none of it? Darned if
I know. I don’t go down that road, given that it won’t
get me anywhere. Concerning "deservedness," I’ll
make no claims. But I’ll take it….enjoy it….give
thanks for it (completely and utterly unprompted, thank you,
Mother). And then I’ll carve the fatted partridge, leaving
an unbroken drumstick for me.
To everything, a
season. Happy Thanksgiving.
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