LEARNING THANKSGIVING

In preparation for this sermon, I searched for wisdom from one of the great sages of the 20^th Century, Erma Bombeck who wrote: “Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence.”

Thanksgiving is about many things other than the perfectly roasted turkey stuffed with the old family recipe straight out of Pepperidge Farm. It is certainly about food and all those family ties intertwined with food. In our imaginings if not our memories, it is ‘over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house.’ It is about tradition and history; facts and legends. It is a civil holiday with religious overtones. It is about parades with giant floats and High School and college football rivalries. It is, as the advertisements flooding our morning papers remind us, the opening salvo for Christmas shopping. In there somewhere, perhaps around the fully laden table, it is about a deep sense of gratitude for the ties that bind us to one another and to all creation.

When I was very small and just realizing that the world held a lot more people than my mother and father and my stuffed animal, I was also learning to say ‘Thank you.’ At first it was a game. I’d drop my toy. My mother would pick it up; hand it back to me and tell me to say ‘thank you.’ It got more serious. My grandmother would give me a cookie, stare at me and ask, “What do you say?” My aunt would give me a new toy and an entire chorus of adults would harmonize that same tune, “What do you say?” The older I got, the more ‘thank you’ became internalized as the words came out automatically. Of course there were rapids and hidden shoals to negotiate in my education. I learned that even if I didn’t like the new toy, I still needed to say ‘thank you’ before going off in a corner to sulk. As I grew into my ‘thank you’ response, I began to realize that there are shades of thanks that range from the heart-felt expression of delight to the cold and rote polite response given for propriety’s sake. You know what I mean, I’m sure. “Oh wow, thank you for the new bike.” “Thanks for the new socks.” It took a lot more growing for me to realize that I was not the center of the universe and that each gift I have ever received has been given out of love, even the new pair of socks. Now that about two thirds of my life are over, I have grown, I hope, beyond the learned response. I understand that ‘thank you’ is more than a polite expression. It is a message that I return to the giver; letting her know that I deeply appreciate her thoughtfulness and receive the gift with genuine gratitude. Perhaps maturity is the ability to say thanks and mean it.

The thanks that we give to God are somewhat like the thanks we learn as children and grow into as adults. Just as we were taught to give polite thanks for gifts, so we were taught polite prayers to God. Many of us were trained to say our bedtime prayers beginning with “Thank you God for …” followed by the “please bless” list of family and friends. Many of us also learned to be patient as we waited for the blessing to conclude before we could start to eat. I wonder how many of us have matured past those rote responses to God into the deep gratitude about which Thanksgiving is but a pale reflection.

As a way to illustrate that deep sense of gratitude, this morning rather than use the lectionary passages, I have chosen a few verses from Psalm 104 and a wonderful description of the ideal Christian community that is found in the Book of Acts. Many of the Psalms express almost a visceral wonder at the power of God that is equal to the love of God for humans and, indeed, for all creation. I particularly appreciate this sense that comes to me through the words of Psalm 104. Picture in your mind the author looking around a lush valley where water flowing in streams from the Mountain irrigates the fields. The grain is abundant. The sheep and cattle and goats graze contentedly. The farmer prepares for an abundant harvest. The Psalmist anticipates the harvest banquet and can almost taste the well-aged wine. Reflecting on what is visible, the psalmist glories in the wonderful, virtually invisible balance that not only sustains life but also gives to humans and animals alike a sense of being loved and cared for by the Creator. In this psalm, not only humans but also the young lions, the whales; the earth itself unite in thanksgiving to God. What would that anonymous poet write in response to what we know is an even more intricate weaving together of creation than he could ever imagine: atoms and molecules and DNA linking us all to the stars above and the earth below?

The psalmist wrote a hymn of thanksgiving for the beauty of the earth; the gift of life; the loving care of God for all God’s creatures. On a clear cold night when we look up to the stars or watch a sunset over the lake, or share a laugh with a friend over a glass of wine, the joy and wonder that we experience links us to the ancient poet as we offer our wordless poem of thanks to God.

The selection that I chose from Acts is a vision of the ideal Christian community where all is owned in common and no one goes without. Listen again to the description: “And all who shared the faith owned everything in common; they sold their goods and possessions and distributed the proceeds among themselves according to what each one needed. Each day, with one heart, they regularly went to the temple but met in their houses for the breaking of bread; they shared their food gladly and generously; they praised God and were looked up to by everyone.”

This radical sense of community is in continuity with that of the psalmist. Psalm 104 speaks of the natural placement of all life so that all life flows in a purposeful dance of relationship. Humans and animals have their place in the geography of the community, and respecting that place, all thrive and prosper. The author of Acts refines the sense of community; drawing members into a relationship of mutual responsibility and mutual love. Yet, right from the beginning of Christianity ideals and realities were at cross-purposes and usually the realities became the norm. Neither the vision of the Psalmist nor that of the Author of Acts has taken form amid thousands of years of reality. Yet there are echoes of the ideal to which Christians have responded throughout the centuries. Our Pilgrim ancestors desired to be that ideal Christian community and the feast of gratitude shared with the Native Peoples was such an echo. Another echo that will be celebrated this evening is the Joint Urban Ministry Project or JUMP. 12 or more years ago, as jobs dried up and rents began into climb, large numbers of people began coming to downtown churches seeking food, help with rent or utility payments or the money to buy gas for cars so that they could get to work. Knowing that they could provide better and more coordinated assistance working together than continuing helping on their own, a group of clergy from those churches including our own Rev. Jean Andrews, established JUMP and First Congregational Church volunteered the space to run it. Covenanting with one another, the churches have sent faithful volunteers to enhance and support the work of 2 part time directors, provided funds to assist families who struggle to pay their bills, collected food so that no one need go hungry, provided laundry soap to wash clothes; donated toiletries and formula and diapers. Through the ministry of The Possibility Shop, JUMP clients have been given vouchers to purchase school clothes for children, work clothing for adults and the occasional Christmas present to put under the tree. In all those years, the chapel narthex and the second floor landing have been the JUMP offices.

In the great scheme of things, JUMP seems so small and insignificant but the impact it has on those who come for help is a grand echo of that ideal Christian Community described in Acts. One client said, “When I come here you always make my daughter and I feel welcomed and loved and that people at least here do care. Your support is very much appreciated. We thank you from the bottom of our heart. God bless.” Another person said, “February my son and myself became homeless. This is the first time in my life that I have ever been in this position. Your program is fantastic. Thanks for all you have done. God bless.”

JUMP is a teacher helping all of us to learn Thanksgiving. JUMP is a reflection of the vision in Acts. It allows us to be community to one another. We reach across religious, economic, cultural boundaries and declare ourselves family. We ensure that there is food and clothing and medicine and the money to stay warm. Through JUMP we, have the privilege of being community to our neighbors. The reality is that for most of us this sharing is anonymous but still, it is a reflection of the ideal and with each can of food we give we are proclaiming our connections; our community.

When I was young, one of the important traditions in our kitchen was the hanging of the wishbone on a handy nail to dry out. When it was finally dry, there was loud and insistent negotiation over whose turn it was to pull that bone apart. When the dust settled, the two chosen ones spent a moment preparing their wish and pulling that bone apart. I don’t recall what any of my wishes were or if they came true. I just know that the wishbone signaled the last of the turkey meat for which we all breathed a sigh of relief. What began as the centerpiece of a banquet ended as a motley collection of bones unceremoniously dumped in the garbage.

Thanksgiving is not the turkey; not the dressing or the pies. It is not even the date. It is an atmosphere of gratitude that needs to permeate all that we are and do every moment of our lives. When we say thanks, let it rise from the deepest part of our being. For only at that deep level do we truly understand the wonders that surround and fill us.

We have much to be grateful for not the least of which is community. Amen.