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Thanksgiving

"I awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and the new." (Emerson).

The holiday Americans celebrate today is rooted in the unique story of this country going as far back as four hundred years. While the story itself may remain unclear to many of us, we reap the annual benefits of gathering with our loved ones, sharing a meal of abundance, and pausing to reflect on the source of our provision and blessing. It is my favorite holiday, and although attempts are made every year to turn it in to a consumer-driven primer for Christmas, by and large, it has retained its special sacredness and simplicity.

In 1620, one hundred and two English seperatists set sail from Plymouth, England for the New World. These dissenters, who left England to preserve their cultural identity and seek religious freedom, were brought to the America's by a crew of 30 men on board the Mayflower. According to tradition, they landed at Plymouth Rock -- except there is no record of such a place in their writings and the story was probably made up as a nice little addition to American folklore.

The English arrived in desperate condition and were not prepared to survive in the new world. By the end of that first winter, fifty percent of them had died from disease. As they were trying to fight their way from death that spring, a native of the Patuxet people named Squanto made contact and be-friended the remaining English. Squanto knew the English language because he had been kidnapped by Englishman Thomas Hunt who attempted to sell him into slavery in Spain. When some friars caught wind of this, they took Squanto (and many others) in order to teach them about the Christian faith. He eventually found his way to London and on a return journey to his homeland on board another English ship.

When Squanto returned home, he found all of his people dead from disease...disease brought by the English.

That Squanto could move past his great losses and personal tragedy brought on by Englishmen and be-friend the very people who had cost him so dearly is a remarkable and admirable part of our shared story. The Plymouth settlement could not have succeeded without him. He taught the colonists how to plant corn and how to eat from the wilderness. He served as interpreter between Chief Massasoit of the Wampanoag people and the English and helped forged an alliance between the English and Wampanoag for mutual defense against their enemies.

Over the summer of 1621 and with the assistance of their native friends, the English produced and stockpiled an admirable harvest. As was custom in the era, a harvest feast was planned for the late autumn. Contrary to folklore, the Wampanoag weren't actually invited to the feast but showed up anyhow. Since they shared a treaty with one another, the English were obliged to show hospitality. The 60-90 warriors who traveled with Massasoit most likely made a huge dent in the winter stockpile during the three days of feasting and games. The English, should they have visited the Wampanoag villages, could have expected the same hospitality in return.

There was no turkey on that first Thanksgiving menu (yet another folksy addition to the story). Instead, they ate mainly venison, codfish, boiled pumpkin, wild berries, and something called the Three Sisters (a mixture of maize, beans, and squash). Potatoes were in abundance, but the English thought they were poisonous and would not touch them.

This story remained a respected and revered part of our American allegory for centuries. The Continental Congress issued a first National Proclamation of Thanksgiving in 1777. George Washington declared a day of Thanksgiving on October 3, 1789, but national celebrations of Thanksgiving were hit and miss dependent upon the whims of presidents until the American Civil War. It wasn't until 1863 when President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed a National Day of Thanksgiving to be set for late November. There has been an annual observance every year since then. In 1941, Congress set the permanent date for Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday of November. President Roosevelt signed it into law, and Americans have been celebrating our collective thanks on that day every since.

Ours is a rich, folksy, unique holiday that is rooted in history and steeped in significance with a bit of quirkiness thrown in (such as the President of the United States and his annual pardoning of the White House turkey). An American Thanksgiving is a celebration of the welcome of strangers (even those who cost you), the forgiveness of enemies, the acknowlegment of mutual dependency, and honoring of the providence of the Almighty.

It is a holiday that addresses the soul of our nation and her people. As we gather around our table today with friends and family, I will pause to reflect on those who have made my journey possible, those with whom I share a mutual dependency, and the Creator whose sustaining presence is an every day reality in my life.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Stubborn

Polarize

"Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it whether it exists or not, diagnosing it incorrectly, and applying the wrong remedy" (Ernest Benn).

It is not at all coincidental to me that Election Day in the United States is ushered in annually by a holiday that is all about tricks, goblins, masks, and fear. The dark tide starts rising in September, and society as a whole seems to ride the tide of cynicism and fear until around Thanksgiving when we are feeling good again. Perhaps it was wisdom on the part of Congress in 1845 to establish a permanent Election Day to fall after the bliss of summer and before the joy of the holidays, coinciding with the time of year when all color and life seems to fall into decay and the realities of winter set in...

On the ballot this year in Denver is a City and County Ordinance to determine whether or not Denver should create an "extraterrestrial affairs commission to help ensure the health, safety, and cultural awareness of Denver residents and visitors in relation to potential encounters or interactions with extraterrestrial intelligent beings or other vehicles..."

I kid you not.

This, ironicly, from the same city that legalized "medical marijuana" not too long ago....

But I digress.

Like many Americans, I find myself somewhere in the middle of it all wondering where the moderate voices are and why everything seems so polarized to the "right" and the "left". I hear about this "massive middle" but see no signs of it anywhere as if its presence were merely ethereal in nature. Our political candidates seem to represent the extremes but miss the majority middle who want neither in office. Our churches seem split along lines of right and left, trumpeting their causes, all claiming to be on the "side of God" yet fighting against brother and neighbor.

We divide and conquer one another on TV ads, religious publications, and in our day to day interactions. We are bombarded with information and images and inculcations that seem to stifle sanity and mute God's Spirit.

And who is above it?

No matter how "right" we may be, if we don't bear on our lives the defining mark of love, our words, our politics, our positions are nothing. We do not need to draw up the battle lines, choose sides, and march head-long into the conflagration. If we are engaged in battle, it is a battle we have chosen. Perhaps the middle is so silent because of its refusal to be dragged into the maelstrom. Perhaps they have chosen another Way.

At the end of the day, I have a great respect for those who disregard the fray and go quietly on their way serving the God and humanity they love, not drawing attention to themselves or jostling for position among men. Peace-makers are often hated people, a judgment they are willing to accept from those who have drawn the battle lines.

Their loyalty extends beyond the battle lines.

Acceptable

Bridge

"Let us make a dent in the universe" (Steve Jobs).

Anyone who takes a risk runs the risk of being misunderstood. I say, "Risk anyway".

For the longest time, I have felt like odd-man-out in the church and in pastoral ministry. I've always been uncomfortably wedged between generations who understand little of each other and who come from exceedingly different sets of circumstances. I feel just as at "home" serving my brothers and sisters gathered as I do with my friends, neighbors, and students scattered. I see no distinction in the Kingdom of God either serving the church or serving those outside our communities of faith, and I celebrate both opportunities.

I have to admit though, as a pastor, sometimes I feel completely misunderstood by those outside the church...as though I were reviled, feared, or mistrusted. On the other hand, when I give my time to those outside the church, I feel misunderstood by those "inside"...as though I were back-sliding, turning liberal, or losing my way. I've come to realize there are many on the outside who will never understand those on the inside as well as many on the inside who will never understand those on the outside.

I guess that's why the bridge-builders are so important...for both groups.

Bridge-builders run the risk of being misunderstood by both groups they are trying to reach. Our personal comfort demands staying on our own side, cut off and sheltered from the other. The convenience of our distance allows us to feel more self-righteous and superior. Learning to cross over and engage each other just might challenge our lazy thinking and confront some of our own inadequacies and dirty little secrets. We'd rather launch verbal volleys at one another from a distance than take the risk of engagement.

Thank God for the bridge-builders who follow the example of Jesus and cross boundaries led by God's Spirit!

Richard Rohr, author of "From Wild Man to Wise Man" says this: "...balancing love of self with love of the other makes for moral integrity, just as in true love making. It is holding my own boundaries, while also going beyond them for the sake of others (p. 121)." I'm not sure how we've come to believe that giving of ourselves to the "other side" is a bad thing. Whose battle lines are we paying attention to anyhow?

A few years back, I remember speaking at a church regarding our ministry in Ireland. During the question and answer time, a respected gentleman expressed his curious frustration at how the coffee shops of our town were as important to us as the gathering of saints. Conceptually, he could not understand how essentially important those moments of friendship, connection, and conversation were with those who did not consider themselves Christian.

Conceptually, I could not understand how he could not.

I doubt seriously whether the Spirit of God recognizes all the boundaries and borders we have established. It would do us good to remember that apart from Christ, we are all aliens and foreigners! Jesus gave his life to bridge a very great chasm.

To the bridge-builders, to those who build bridges to connect and have the audacity to cross fearlessly, I commend you.

We all need you.

Stir

Rest

"Sometimes the most urgent thing you can possible do is take a complete rest" (A. Brilliant).

Message received loud and clear!

Somewhere toward the beginning of last week, my body began sending me signals that I needed to take it easy. As someone who loves my job, I, of course, chose to ignore the problem and continue on my feet in the classroom all the while trying to ignore the increasing pressure in my lower back. That was a mistake.

On Friday, I could barely get out of bed and was practically in tears on my way out of the house and into my truck to head to work. I knew I needed to be home, but it was the last day of class for my Discovery students, and we had a special event planned for them that I did not want to miss. Whether it was my stubborness or a just heightened sense of self-importance that made me head off to school is your guess.

I got to school, and my principal assisted me back out the door. I went home and straight to bed and there remained until Sunday morning. I read an entire book and started another, took a few naps, and caught up with friends on the phone. I said "no" to my obligations and other plans of interest, and remained confined within the walls of my house.

And it was refreshing.

It is easy for us to get caught up in the Sabbath legislation and forget the purpose behind God's command to rest. As it turns out, resting is an important aspect to our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health and well-being, but we don't do it very well. It wasn't too long ago that I read an article that explained how with modern technology, we are actually fitting 31 hours worth of work and activity into our 24 hour days. I wonder how long this can go on before each of us reaches our limit?

Even our Christian Sabbaths (Sundays) can be filled with so much obligation, preparation, and responsibility that there is little time left for the kind of quality rest that replentishes and renews. We talk often about addictions to drugs, alcohol, and other things but choose to ignore our addiction to busyness, which is just as destructive. Our American obsession with "productivity" and how that ties into our value and usefulness to society causes us to ignore some of our most fundamental needs -- like rest and worship and time with the people we love.

Isn't it funny how I always crave Chick-fil-A or need something from Hobby Lobby for student projects on Sundays? I respect their ability to not cave in to the money that can come from the Sunday market, but more importantly, I appreciate that they give their employees the opportunity to rest (whether they choose to rest or not).

I had no choice but to rest this weekend, so being incapacitated by lower back pain that restricted my every move might not have been such a bad thing in hind sight. That said, I will gladly accept the recovery!

After all, I head back to work on Monday.

Repent

Service

"Be alert to give service. What counts a great deal in life is what we do for others" (anonymous).

I have a lot of fondness for the "peculiar people" among whom I was raised. The Brethren -- and other Anabaptists among them -- do things differently on occassion, and it is many of those things that set them apart that I appreciate now more than ever. Most notably influential in my life was the bi-annual observance of the Footwashing as a part of Love Feast, the three-part Brethren observance of communion.

I kid you not when I tell you that those experiences of washing other people's feet and having my own feet washed were profoundly influential in my nurture and development as a young follower of Christ. John 13 recounts the story of Jesus washing the disciple's feet, and there are fewer chapters in the bible that have influenced the way I live my life more than that one. Whether we believe Jesus' instruction to "do as I have done for you" is to be taken literally or figuratively isn't so much the issue to me, but his instruction to serve clearly is!

The washing of feet went out of fashion a long time ago, and I find it remarkable (and admirable) that there are still people who practice it as a part of their modern, Christian experience. Many people react negatively to this idea of washing someone else's feet, but I can tell you from experience that that's not the most difficult or uncomfortable part of the process. I can relate with Peter in how difficult (and humbling) it is to have other people wash my feet. To be served in such a way is not easy at all.

Washing and being washed are two sides of the same coin, really. It is just as important for me to admit my need and allow my brothers and sisters to come along side my life as it is for me to come along side of them. We need this mutuality! I admit that it is much more difficult for me to be transparent and open about my struggles and needs and to call out for help than to reach out and serve others in their need. I find little or no difficulty in walking with others through the muck and mire, but it is strangely challenging to have others getting dirty while walking with me.

"Unless I wash you, you have no part with me."

There is something to be said about how allowing others to serve us in our need builds community and friendship, love and trust like nothing else. The 1923 Brethren Pastor's Manual says that feetwashing is "love humbling itself for service...such a brotherly love that one is willing to make a sacrifice for the sake of making one's brother purer and better." There is no doubt in my mind that service of that sort and kind fosters love and sacrifice, nurtures humility and mercy, and brings healing and cleansing to both those serving and those being served.

Footwashing -- and its implication for life -- is one of the most sincere shapers of my Christian experience, and some of my most profound spiritual experiences have come through serving others and being served.

Both have cost me.

Both have brought me life.

Both are good and right.

There are fewer moments when I sense the closeness of God then when I am "washing another's feet" or "being washed" myself. In those sacred moments, the Spirit of God is present and the ministry is mutual.

We are serving Christ.

Christ is serving us.

We are serving one another.

"Where two or more are gathered in my name, I am there..." (Jesus).

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