Thanksgiving was all wrong
this year.
All wrong. Neither God nor
the rest of the world bothered to consult me about how it ought to happen and
it went on as it was going to despite my protestations to the contrary.
For the first year ever,
no family around the table, and only a few, very precious, friends. And to top it all off, changes in my
community that, ultimately, are good and necessary, but feel very much like
loss as one of my favorite priests recedes to the background of the parish, an
administrator is named and yet another much loved priest will—as is done in
these things—simply vanish quietly from the scene in order to let the new man
take up his share of the burden of serving God’s fractious people without the
added complication of the “old guy” still around.
A Thanksgiving of change,
of God’s creation and the people in it becoming what they are, but always, always
it feels like loss. I suppose it felt
like loss to Creation when then last eohippus died, too, but it was necessary
if we were eventually to have Man’o’War.
This business of being created unfinished is not the most comfortable
business in the world. Must make a note
to talk to God about that….he clearly needs my assistance in this matter.
There’s humility, I think,
in recognizing that one’s pain sometimes comes from the pride that wishes
things to be, always and everywhere, in conformity with one’s own desires
rather than accepting what simply is.
There’s also a certain pride, I think, in trying desperately to make it
all fit some plan of logic that we generate ourselves: God chose to do this to
teach me that….perhaps I am not, after all, the focus of the universe or even
of this particular constellation of events.
Perhaps I am just a bystander sometimes.
There is pain that always
comes with change and growth, built into creation. There are plenty of scriptures that point us
to this uncomfortable reality but the words that remind me best of this comes
from The Fantasticks.
There is a curious paradox that no one can explain.
Who understands the secret of the reaping of the
grain?
Or why Spring is born out of Winter’s laboring pain?
Or why we must all die a bit before we grow again?
I do not know the answer, I merely know it’s true.
I hurt them for that reason, and myself a little bit
too…
So there I sat, in the
last pew, on Thanksgiving, feeling
anything but thankful. And if there is
one thing I have learned in these past few years, it’s that emotions, like the
wind and the Spirit, come unbidden and largely un-commanded, tied up to things
so deep in me that I can’t begin to unravel them to understand. So to hear that common –and very
true—admonition that we have so much to be thankful for this should be a day of
joy rang in my heart like the sound of a broken bell, recognizable, all right
but off-key; and nothing I could do about it, uncertain whether it might even be one day repaired and restored to its former clarity.
As I sat in the church,
only half-listening to the homily, words floated to mind: Give thanks in all things. And Were not ten made clean? And where are the nine? There is no one found to return and give
glory to God, but this stranger. And he said to him: Arise, go thy way; for thy faith
hath made thee whole.
I think it’s a mistake to
equate giving thanks with feeling really good about what’s happening, to
conflate gratitude with pleasant, uplifting emotions. Thanksgiving—gratitude—I
think may be more akin to a way of acting than a way of feeling. At least, that’s all I can muster this year.
I am comforted that God
does not ask the impossible; He does not ask us to give thanks for all things, just in them—the for, if it comes at all,
comes later. He bids us not to
understand what is happening, but to know He is in the midst of it all.
I am reminded of Kaddish, the prayer Jewish mourners say at the
death of a loved one, reminiscent of, perhaps even precursor of, our own Te Deum.
It’s not a prayer of “I’m sure
glad you sent this my way, God” but rather an exultation of the Glory of God
without making any pretense of understanding it; and an act of the most
profound faith even the midst of crushing pain:
Glorified and sanctified be G-d's great name
throughout the world which He has created according to His will.
May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and
during your days, and within the life of the entire House of Israel, speedily
and soon; and say, Amen.
May His great name be blessed forever and to all
eternity.
Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted, extolled
and honored,
adored and lauded be the name of the Holy One,
blessed be He,
beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and
consolations that are ever spoken in the world; and say, Amen.
May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life,
for us
and for all Israel; and say, Amen.
He who creates peace in His celestial heights,
may He create peace for us and for all Israel;
and say, Amen
The prayer does not ask
that the mourner be comforted, nor does it presume to explain the world except
to remind us that God created it as He willed.
It doesn’t put us at the center of things, desperate to explain why this
happened in this way for benefit of the bereaved. It reminds the mourner to remove his gaze
from pain and look to the Source of Life.
Pain brings the mourner to
say Kaddish; the prayer draws him
through that pain to God. It doesn’t try
to change pain to pleasure for that would be dishonest. As He of the Impossible
Penances would say, pain is part of the gift and we do not get to choose what
parts we accept and what parts we do not accept. Those holes in my heart are because something
good is being changed without my permission; they are evidence of the goodness
of the gift. But they are still holes
and holes hurt and to pretend otherwise is just not possible.
So I think giving thanks
has a different, deeper connotation than just warm feelings of gratitude,
excellent as those may be, critical as they are to growing in the spiritual
life. I think thanksgiving is more about
making the real, and sometimes very difficult, effort to take ourselves out of
the center of the picture and put God back into it. And that sometimes happens by sheer act of
will, apart from the emotions that drive it.
Among those ten lepers was
certainly a common joy and relief at being healed; surely they were amazed and
in some sense grateful for the great and unexpected cure. Surely they were all ten appreciative,
thankful in some inchoate and emotional sense . But only the one, who came back
to glorify God, was truly thankful in the religious sense for he made the focus
of his emotions God; and he was made whole as well as cured of his illness. That
act of will was also an act of faith and it is that Jesus seems to have counted
as thankfulness.
The saints and martyrs are
of one voice in being thankful for their trials, but it’s also clear that they
did not fail to experience the very real pain of them. This Thanksgiving hardly rises to the level
of being roasted on a gridiron, eaten by lions or suffering fifty years of
spiritual desolation, but the pain in my heart is sharp, none the less. I am thankful—but I am not happy.
So for now, I’m going with
the idea that thanksgiving—thankfulness-is not just a pleasant emotion, nor
need it be accompanied by one. We are
commanded to give thanks, and even God cannot command us to feel that which we
do not feel. But He can command us to
act as we should and through that action, to put ourselves in proper relationship to Him where
all will be well and we will be made whole in spite of ourselves.
The Church builds that act
of thanksgiving into every mass, and I am grateful beyond words. Christ left us a way to express thanks when
words won’t come and emotions are unruly and we are in the midst of a growing
that leaves us smarting and disoriented. That way--the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the celebration of the Eucharist, is honest and real and
powerful even when we cannot enter into it with a full heart. Just the very act of entering is thanksgiving itself, God's gift to us in pain as well as in joy. We come to the altar with our brothers and
sisters who can talk when we cannot and who bear us up when we are weak,
lending their strength and their voices in our need. Together we stand at the foot of the cross,
where Mary, in the greatest sorrow known to man, suffered and cried and…gave
thanks.
For children who grow and
leave the nest, for friends who come in and out of our lives and leave us
changed and for the pain that all life brings as we become what we are because of the touch of God….Thanks be to God.
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