Gratitude and Grace
Indeed, we are the blessed heirs of hard-won
liberties and material blessings that our fathers vaguely but dutifully dreamed
over while toiling and praying in yeomanly fashion that their children might be
better people, living equally better lives. Yet nevertheless, as we now stand
astride our precious but dwindling legacies of plenty, a vague dissatisfaction
lurking in the well of our souls whispers to us that this is not enough. And
for the Children of God, who were fashioned for the purpose of basking in the
starlike glory of his countenance, any blessing divorced from an obligation to
its vital source could never have been enough.
While the relentless forces of America's secular
vanguard have done their best to distil Thanksgiving into a voluptuary's
bacchanal, just as Easter and Christmas have been repackaged into mere pagan
seasonal rites of Spring and Winter Solstice, Thanksgiving has most
successfully resisted its desacrilization. But since Thanksgiving implies the
giving of thanks, we are faced with the quandary of who should be the object of
our esteem. Should it be: the Deity, the family, Leviathan, or should we draw
worship to ourselves or to the mammon proceeding from our labors? It is perhaps
due to the powerful emotive force of idealized families banded together --
their heads bowed in pious supplication, that Thanksgiving plucks at our
heartstrings. And in the waves of nostalgia that accompany the primal theme of
"coming home," and being accepted into the fold, evoking at least the
ritualistic trappings of unity, Thanksgiving's undercurrents inform us, in a
visceral sense, that at least for this one day -- we are not alone.
It seems that amongst the catalogue of moral
virtues, Gratitude is a most noble and satisfying one to possess. And though
its roots are not strictly American, its spirit flows abundantly from the epic
of our founding -- starting with Plymouth Rock. In fact, so many of our
holidays and holy days involve a venerable appreciation and indebtedness that
are rooted in civic and moral obligation. Furthermore, even if we are not
deeply moved by the sacrifices borne by others on our behalf, there still
remains within us that nagging sting of conscience informing us that a sterile
ingratitude speaks harshly to the quality of our humanity. Indeed, gratitude
should be the default condition of the soul and its cultivation the very
beginning of wisdom. Grateful people are by definition joyous people while
grumblers and murmurers occupy the bottom rung of those we would join in
friendship. Who can forget Shakespeare's Lear when he concedes: "How
sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child"?
The thankful heart shifts the gravity of its
thoughts from me to thee. In ceasing to behold oneself as the prime mover of
deed and destiny, the outstretched heart can encompass both the blessings and
travails of everyman. When I began to understand this, so late in life, it was
as if someone had switched on a light. Ceasing to grouse and covet for that
which, in my miserable state, I believed that I was entitled to, brought forth
in me a newfound peace and allowed me to participate, however feebly at first,
in lightening the loads of others. But in order to commence this change of
heart, it was first necessary to pry myself off the throne. And I have been
prying myself off, with varying degrees of success, ever since.
And so friends, I am
afraid that however loudly some might howl, we cannot dispense with that nasty
bit about religion on a day that veritably cries out to the rooftops that we
should offer our gratitude for His graciousness -- as well as to the
sacrificial benevolence of our brethren offered in His name. After all, the
secret is that it is not God that is transformed by our accolades, but
ourselves. Moreover, we should not be content with just a tight-lipped
admission that somewhere along the road to today we were offered a celestial
leg up by an equally begrudging and distant Watchmaker God. Instead, we should
offer the affirmation of an emphatic "Yes" to the Common Grace that
Providence generously bestows on both believer and agnostic for the manifold
bounties that are ours for the taking. How true it is that the genuine prayer
of Thanksgiving causes the scales to fall away from our eyes -- allowing us the
honor of emerging as new creatures with renewed vision.
Without a substantial ardor of thankfulness to
an Entity higher than ourselves, Thanksgiving becomes just another species of
Postmodern idolatry -- dooming us to focus on the adulation of that which has
been wrought from our own hands. A full draught of drink and meat cannot but
grow sour in men that anxiously long for the relationships they were made for,
but whose eyes have instead remained affixed to their lower chambers of
pleasure and appetite. Until we motion our eyes and lips heavenward in sincere
supplication for the longing that approximates our true estate, we shall
forever remain mired in that dull ache of flesh and unrequited desire --
forever filling ourselves, yet forever empty.
The paradox of Thanksgiving, and of human life
in general, is that the more we are fixated on the goal of filling that abyss
of appetite in all its forms, the more we discount or overlook the riches that
truly satisfy -- the treasures of family, faith, and the quiet hearth.
Similarly, how odd that the more we are beset with the pains and tribulations
that vex us and have the capacity to wilt our faith and resolve, the greater
our understanding is of the value of that which we stand to lose. The
inevitability of suffering that mars every life has the capacity to refine in
poverty what plenty could not. Clearly, God has thus designed us; and though
this mystery seems counter to the narrative of this world, its wisdom rings
louder and clearer than any church bell -- once we have attended to, in
earnest, this profound meditation. In the end we shall offer Thanksgiving even
for the ignobility of our sufferings, having seen through a glass clearly from
the summit of our perfection.
For those of you who are beset with this unsure
angst of ingratitude, so inconsistent with the august spirit of this holiday,
perhaps things are not as they should be. Whether you believe in Him or not,
know that there is room at that Thanksgiving table that proceeds on seemingly
forever: and the admission therein is only the sacrifice of your pain and pride
-- trading beauty for ashes is the unspoken promise that permeates Thanksgiving
Day. Understanding this, in an American age that is growing increasingly hollow
in its tentative abundance, will go far in bringing us full circle to the
default state of unwavering joy prepared for us since before the beginning of
days -- gifted to man in a Life that bridged the span between a wooden manger
and rough hewn cross. Happy Thanksgiving friends -- We have so much to give
thanks for.
Glenn Fairman writes from Highland, Ca.
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