The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, “God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are.” – Luke 18:11
As the 2020 elections ended, The New York Times asked a number of Americans about their hopes for the country. One of them, Kristina Haynes, 44, of Atlanta, said, “My hope is that we find our humanity again, that we find a way to be kind to one another, and have empathy …”
In recent years that I’ve offered a thanksgiving message, the calendar has turned with increasing truculence. Time and events no longer march on, they collide and lash out.
But out of a measured inclination, I suspect most of us, even in this terrible era of covid, remain grateful. As the calendar draws down out here on the plains, we take stock of what is meaningful in our lives – the good and the bad, in hopes that the good is winning.
We underscore this hope in the wake of more disease and disaster, natural and man-made. Here we are again, praying for victims ‒ of the virus, of war and famine, of great storms, of poverty and greed, of intolerance and neglect.
Why do we go on? That we are thankful at all is a wonder. And yet there are clues:
We can no longer give thanks that we don’t really suffer the threat of disease or what terrorists are, or what war is like, or that fear and ignorance are for other people in other places. But we can still hope that our nation emerges from tragedy and grief with greater awareness of the dark that threatens our society.
We give thanks that sirens in our town are still a rare event. That our medical professionals persevere in a menacing environment.
That we have so many benefits − by way of television and computers and libraries − of the cities, and that so many public employees and private individuals give new meaning to the term “heroism” every day.
That we can care about what happens to the elders next door, and practice private charities, especially this season and generally year ‘round.
That we no longer worry about getting bigger and richer, having seen what an obsession with bigness and richness has done to other people and communities.
That we know our car mechanic and our letter carrier, our school teachers, and our local officials, and we don’t hesitate to talk it over with them when things seem out of hand, and that we extend our thanks when things seem to be going well, and good for them.
That we want churches to be strong, that we still believe the Commandments and the Constitution, and that democratic politics is still a source of hope and possibility.
That although our schools and colleges are cramped by corona, they remain solid institutions, and that we remain committed and determined to help them in every way.
That our community is brimming with people who believe that no day is dismal, and a dull sky is as plausible as any other, and who embrace each morning with the brightness and suddenness of a hyacinth, even , even under the dark clouds of a pandemic.
That the footings of our community, its heritage of abiding faith and a love of mankind, remain strong and inspire us yet.
While we are grateful, we must resist the temptation to give thanks that we are not as others.
That we do not pull into a little Midwest cocoon, trying to preserve what is best while trying to ignore elsewhere the horrors of poverty and war and bigotry.
That we confront political and business corruption, rather than ignore it, because it really is our concern.
In this community we may give thanks for what we have and for what we may be or would like to be, and then let’s add another prayer:
Of thanks that we know life is not good for many in the world; that we are diminished when savagery strikes the innocent wherever they are; that we fear for all refugees of war and despotism; that we can still help when storms rage or disease strikes, or when people in other lands fear for their lives and their future; and a prayer of thanks that we know we are not truly alone out here on a Kansas island.
We give thanks that we can still care as Kristina Hayes of Atlanta cares, and care not only for those around us. And that we strive not to be as the Pharisees. Gratitude becomes us. Gratitude rooted in smugness does not. We can truly be grateful if we realize that.
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