Talking Turkey about Thanksgiving -or- On the Spirit of Thanksgiving

With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I have been doing some thinking about what the attitude of thanksgiving is, precisely.  So, I have torn thanksgiving apart, like the remnants of a cooked avian corpse, to see where the meat is.  Here are some of the more...filling conclusions of my ruminations.  We start with an example that was given to me by my confirmation class this week.

Daniel gives me a piece of cheese.

I like cheese, and so immediately upon receiving the gift I say "Thank you."

Daniel leaves.  I put the cheese in the fridge.

The next day, I see the cheese and decide to have some.

I love cheese.  This cheese is particularly amazing.

In that moment, while eating the cheese, I think about Daniel and what a great gift he gave me.

At what point in all of this is the spirit of thanksgiving born?  Some might say it begins with receiving the gift and saying "thank you."  I disagree.  Thanksgiving is more profound and sophisticated than simple thankfulness or appreciation.  (You may accuse me of splitting hairs here, but please read on to learn more about the distinction for which I am arguing.)  I believe that thanksgiving begins in the moment when I am enjoying the cheese.  And it depends on what I am thankful for in that moment.

In every case of thanksgiving, there are two parties: the giver and the one to whom the thing was given.  Thanksgiving requires that a gift was given, requires that what I am thankful for was transferred to me from someone else.  We can be thankful for something, but it does not become thanksgiving until we make the jump to being thankful to the source of the gift.  In thanksgiving, the object needs a subject.  Daniel gave me a piece of cheese.  If I sat relishing the cheese the afternoon it was given, even if I kept saying how thankful I was to taste this cheese, if I did not take the further step and remember Daniel, then my thankfulness would remain selfish.  My focus would never leave how wonderful my life was with this cheese in it, and so I would miss the opportunity to break through the isolation in life to find a friendly companion in the world.  And the focus would remain on the object, the material thing instead of the intense depth of what the cheese signifies interpersonally, emotionally, etc.  Simply being thankful for something is materialistic, selfish and isolating.  If being thankful for something never becomes thankfulness to someone, then there is no benefit to my soul.   

Luckily, the Christian has a boundless source of benefit for the soul.  For when the Christian remembers that "every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights" (James 1:17), then everything for which one can be thankful also entails someone to which one can be thankful, namely God.  Indeed, the Christian is a Christian only if and precisely when the object one possesses receives a subject who has given it.  What's more, every giver who cannot be said to be God is included in this.  For the whole quote from James reads, "every generous act of giving, along with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights...."  So, when I am thankful to Daniel I am, as a Christian, simultaneously thankful to God whose work inspired Daniel's generous act of giving.  Every gift is passed down from on high in this manner.  And we all become vehicles of God's generous giving.

Now say that I am thankful for my iPhone, which I am.  It was not given to me as a gift.  I purchased it.  So, then, is it impossible for me to be moved to a spirit of thanksgiving for my iPhone?  Not at all.  To move beyond being thankful for it, though, I need to do a little work.  I must trace the situation back in order to see that it is, in the final analysis, a gift.  How is this so?  I paid for the phone with money.  I earned the money, perhaps, in my job?  Perhaps I earned the job, but did I myself earn the economic system in which the job was available?  Did I create the organization that hired me?  Did I create the situation in which the organization has flourished?  Did I win the freedom and prosperity of the nation that has given the organization a place?  Or did I create the technology, in order that such a phone would be available to me?  In this way, we can trace my possessing the phone back to the component parts--of civilization, of the human intellect and being, and of the materials with which the phone itself is made--and they are traced back to God's creation.  Of course, along the way, we also see the many hands that passed this gift down, through which God has worked all the while.  And I find that I am not only thankful for my phone, but, indeed, my phone causes in my soul much thanksgiving.

In every act of thanksgiving, there is also a temporal component.  It is quite significant that time passed between my receiving the gift and my giving thanks for it.  Since, in thanksgiving, I am not only thankful for, but also thankful to, thanksgiving requires that I not only remember the thing given, but also the giver.  In fact, remembering the giver is the entire point.  In the moment when the gift is given, it is easy to remember the giver, as the giver is present in that moment.  (Even if the gift is sent, that is given remotely, the giver is present in my mind immediately upon receiving the gift.)  Thankfulness for a gift occurs immediately, in the moment in which it is given.  But the deciding factor in whether or not thankfulness will transform into thanksgiving is time.  Will I, after a little while, when I enjoy the gift, remember the giver?  That is the question.  Because the next condition necessary for the birth of thanksgiving is the evocation of the giver and the moment of the giving after the fact.  Eternity must meet temporality, and only then do we experience thanksgiving as a holy moment.  In enjoying the gift, the giving must become contemporaneous with the moment of enjoying the gift through the act of remembrance.  I must remember how the thing came into my possession.  If I do not, then the gift is no longer a gift, it is simply something I possess.  Moreover, the giver (however distant in time and space) must be brought forth in remembrance.  Part of the idea of the gift is for the giver to be present in one's life in a meaningful way through the gift itself.  And so the enjoyment of the gift must evoke both these things: the moment of the giving and the giver.

This leads us to our final point.  Thankfulness becomes thanksgiving when I give my thanks as a gift.   When I stop to remember, in the moment that I am enjoying the gift and not just in the moment I receive the gift, all of a sudden I am giving attention to the giver in a spirit of thankfulness.  I am also giving a portion of time to the person--whether they know it or not is inconsequential--as I halt in my enjoyment and remember.  At least a portion of my very valuable time and attention is then given to remembering that this cheese was a gift, and instead of simply being thankful for, I have become thankful to in a way that transforms my thankfulness already into a giving.  In this way, I am making my enjoyment itself a gift in return to the giver--by taking the time and attention to remember the giver in thanks.  My remembering Daniel's act of giving alone constitutes a spirit of thanksgiving.  I am not just full of thanks, but am giving it because now there is a subject upon which or before which my thanks can be placed (which brings us back to the beginning).

Thanksgiving, then, requires giving as well as thanks.  The other benefit thanksgiving is to the soul is that it fosters in the individual a glad and generous heart.  And so in thanksgiving, I not only wish to give thanks to the giver, but I also, perhaps, desire to give as the giver has given, as the Giver gives.  My heart is trained in such a way that I become a glad and generous giver.

Every act of worship is a thanksgiving, and it requires all of these components:
Having received a gift; enjoyment of the gift; remembering the giver in thanksgiving; and giving as the giver gives.

Bible Study time.  Deuteronomy 26:1-15 is the quintessential thanksgiving text.
It describes what we are supposed to do on tax day (which for us is April 15th).
When we bring our taxes (or our tithe), we are to place it before the altar and remember.  We are to remember that God has given us all that we have--the bounty of the earth, the land we possess, the money we have, etc., etc.  And so, as we give our first fruits of the year, we recount all that God has done for us (and for our nation!): "...my ancestor was a wandering Aramean" (Abraham) and "you made him a great nation" and "when he went down to Egypt and was enslaved, you brought the people out into freedom" and "you gave us the Promised Land as our habitation."  The giving of the tax or the tithe, then becomes an act of thanksgiving as we remember in thankfulness not only what was given, but who gave it to us.  Our having received and our giving becomes a small part of a much larger relationship, a much larger economy.  Indeed, the passage ends with a plea: 'God, please continue to bless us as you have promised to do, and as you have been doing.'  In other words, we want our relationship with you to continue.  If only April 15th could feel this good!  If only our weekly offering in church could make us feel so infinitely blessed!  All it takes is recognizing the gift, remembering the giver, and letting our thankfulness turn into action...into thanksgiving.

What causes you to give thanks?
What has God given to you this year?
Remember these things, and Christ Jesus who is the source of boundless riches, giving thanks to God.

Joyful thanksgivings to everyone!

rha

Remembering the Dead -or- What All Saint's Day Teaches Us

On All Saint's Day, Christians remember all of those who are witnesses to the truth.  We particularly remember those who have finished their course in life, and who rest in perfect joy and eternal life in God's house.  We remember the martyrs, the apostles, the saintly heros of Christianity throughout the ages, and all of those who have touched our own lives.  Although All Saint's Day is not a day just to remember the dead, but rather even the living who help support and console us in our faith journeys, we particularly remember the dead.

A short meditation by Soren Kierkegaard, in his book Works of Love, gave me a greater appreciation for remembering the dead.  What follows is a repetition of his themes, accompanied and followed by a few of my own reflections.

Remembering one who has died is the greatest act of love.

That is, when we remember this one, despite our grief of loss, with thanksgiving.  When, despite our sorrow, which is a part of our veneration, we lovingly remember the one who is dead.

Remembering the one who has died is the greatest act of love because it is a love that is entirely unselfish, totally free, and completely faithful.

Remembering the Dead One is entirely unselfish.

If I love someone who is living, there is always the possibility that I will get something in return for that love.  At the very least, I will be, as it were, repaid by that person loving me in return.  If I love my family or spouse or friends, then I may receive support of all kinds from them.  How easy it is to love someone who makes you laugh, who helps you, who listens to you, who gives you wise advice, who sits with you in sorrow, or who walks beside you in trials.

But one who is dead can give nothing in return for our recollecting them in love.  The one who is dead cannot help us, cannot walk beside us through life--they are buried in the ground or have been returned to ashes and dust.  The one who is dead cannot even return our love.  Recollecting the dead, then, is entirely unselfish, because there is no room for any expectation that we will get anything in return for the love we give in recollecting.  There is no possibility of gain.

Remembering the Dead One is totally free, indeed, is the freest type of love.

If I say to a loved one who is living: "I will always love you."  Or, when saying goodbye when I move away from a loved one, I say: "I will always remember you."  Or I say to a friend, "I will always remember that good thing you did for me."  It may happen that through the course of busy days, I do forget, that I do not always remember that person in love.  But, when I see that person again, perhaps they remember.  And upon seeing me, they ask, "Do you remember me?"  Oh!  They themselves remember, and they have remembered my promises!  Even if it is by their very presence, and they say nothing to make sure I remember, they remind me of my promise.  Presented with their reminder, I again remember them in love.

Or say my mother frustrates me, and I vent that frustration to a friend.  That friend will listen patiently to my complaint, but then the friend will remind me: She is your mother.  You must love her.  You must always remember your love for her.

There is no such police force to hold us accountable in remembering the dead in love.  There is no governmental or social or independent organization that does or can peer into our soul to verify that we are recollecting the dead in love.  Even our closest friends do not ask if we remember our dead ones...though they may listen intently, with compassion and with admiration for our love, when we broach the subject.  And we will never run into the one who is dead.  The one who is dead will not come back into our lives, and by his or her presence remind us of our love.

And so, if I continue to remember the one who has died, if I continue to remember them with love, then it is a totally free act on my part.  I choose to remember them, and it is by my will alone that I continue so to do.

Remember the Dead One is a completely faithful act of love.

Say that I am in a relationship of love with someone who is warm and breathing.  It may happen that that relationship ends.  I can still be faithful in my love for that person, my love could be unchanged.  For even in the final analysis, I can still say to myself that that person changed.  And it was the change in them, their unfaithfulness, that destroyed the relationship--even as I remained faithful.  I can even turn away from that relationship and forget that person, knowing that I loved faithfully.

It is not so with the love that remembers the one who is dead.  The one who is dead cannot change.  They rest in eternity and have the strength of eternity...that is, they no longer change.  And so, if I forget the one who is dead, and fail to remember them in love, then it can only be because there was a change in me.  The recollection ends, the love peters out, only if I become unfaithful.  Ah, but if I persist in continually remembering the one who is dead, then that love is perfectly faithful, and I am completely faithful to that person.  Recollecting the one who is dead, then, is the highest faithful act of love.

So, remembering in love the one who has died is a work of love that is entirely unselfish, totally free and completely faithful.  But one may still ask what the purpose is for remembering the dead in love.  Why does it matter?  Should we not live for the future?  Is it not good and healthy to move on and to cease dwelling on death, and those who are dead?  Do we not trap ourselves in sorrow, when we cling unceasingly to one who has left us in death?  We should live in the moment.  We should focus our energy and love on those who are around us.  Etc., etc.

These things may be true.  And yet, it is crucial that we continually recollect the dead in love.  It is crucial because when we remember in love the one who has died, we are able to learn and to practice the highest form of love.  And it is the duty of every Christian to love all those who are living with the same perfect love with which we recollect the dead.

To wit, we are to love our neighbor unselfishly.  We are to love every one we meet even if we can expect nothing in return from them.  We must not only love our family and friends--those who support us and help us--but we are also to love the stranger whom we will never see again.  We are to love the poor one, who has nothing to give.  We must not only love those who love us in return, but we are also to love those who do not love us--our enemy, the one who persecutes us, the one who treats us with indifference.

To wit, we are to love our neighbor freely.  If we love and give charity out of guilt of compulsion, it is not a free love.  If we love simply because we think it is expected of us, it is not free.  If we love because we are told it is what Christians do, and therefore in wanting to be Christian we show love, remembering the poor, the widows, the orphaned, the sick, the imprisoned, etc.--then it is not a free love.  But in recollecting the dead, we learn how to love simply by choice and will, by the welling up of love from our hearts.

To wit, we are to love our neighbor faithfully.  Even if the one (remember we are talking about the one who is living!), even if our beloved changes, we must persist in our love.  If the one we love (remember, we are talking about the ones who are easy to love AND the stranger, the sinner, the rogue and the enemy!), if the one we love sins, even if they sin against us, we must be faithful in our love.  Even if they forget us, we are to remember them--always recollecting them in love.  

Recollecting the one who is dead gives us the skill and the fortitude to love those around us.  And so, All Saint's Day is a time when we, communally, practice the spiritual discipline of love--selfless, free, and faithful love.

Thanks be to God that we have the opportunity to learn how to appreciate those we still have--and those we have yet to claim as beloved--by recollecting those we have lost.

[This friends, is the Law that comes with All Saint's Day.  I am certain that you already know, or at least can guess, the Gospel that is also given to us as we remember those who have run the race, and who have received the crown of glory in Heaven.]