Thanksgiving Eve + 26 November 2003

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church

Sermon preached by the Rev. Mary Krahn

 

(Joel 2:21-27; Psalm 126; 1 Timothy 2:1-7; Matthew 6:25-33)

Several years ago when my children were very small our family visited Plimoth Plantation on the day after Thanksgiving. We had come to see the historical sites, the so-called Plymouth Rock, of course, but also the replica village and the replica Mayflower ship. The village is a living museum, staffed by hosts and hostesses in period costume, each engaged in some kind of typical early colonial activity and taking the part of a particular character, complete with the appropriate language and accent. It was a cold, gray, blustery day -- typical, really, for coastal New England in late November -- but in that setting, with the snow whipping our faces and the wind constantly whistling down our necks, it seemed especially bleak, harsh and unwelcoming.

The history of that time, of course, was even more bleak than the weather in that place. The Pilgrims had spent more than two months at sea, crossing the Atlantic with storms so fierce that one passenger was swept overboard. He was rescued from underwater, by a heroic effort, for which today I, at least, give thanks, since he lived on to become one of my ancestors.

 

William Bradford, who would become Governor of the colony the following year and hold that office for thirty-three years, described the new world the Pilgrims found when they landed on Cape Cod:

“Being thus passed the vast ocean, and a sea of troubles before in their preparation, they had now no friends to welcome them, nor inns to entertain or refresh their weatherbeaten bodies; no houses or much less towns to repair to, to seek for succor… And for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters of that country know them to be sharp and violent, and subject to cruel and fierce storms... Besides, what could they see but a hideous and desolate wilderness, full of wild beasts and wild men… The whole country, full of woods and thickets, represented a wild and savage hue. “

And yet, he writes, that their very first act was not of despair, but of thanks:

“Being thus arrived in a good harbor, and brought safe to land, they fell upon their knees and blessed the God of Heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean, and delivered them from all the perils and miseries thereof… “

Before they were able to count any blessings: they fell on their knees and gave thanks. Humbly they thanked God for what little they had already received, and they trusted God to provide for them in the future.

The future was also bleak. Before November of the following year, fifty of the original 102 passengers had died, including most of the women, and Bradford’s own wife, who may have been so overcome by the desolation of that wilderness that she threw herself off of the ship before it settled in Plymouth. Death and disease were so rampant that some days there was only a handful of able-bodied men to care for living and to bury the dead. And yet, they gave thanks. The grace they had already received gave them faith that God would provide.

That they survived at all was owing, as we learn in grade school, mostly to the assistance to Squanto, a native of the place, as survivor of the Pawtuxet tribe, who -- incredibly -- already spoke English, English acquired through years of slavery, taken from his homeland to England, before being returned years later to Plymouth. In Bradford’s words,

[Squanto was] “a special instrument sent of God for their good, beyond their expectation. He directed them how to set their corn, where to take their fish, and to procure other commodities, and was also their pilot to bring them to unknown places for their profit, and never left them till he died.”

Here it seems, was a sign of unimaginable grace: not simply that the settlers could learn to survive in a foreign land, but that their survival would be due to the dedication of one who shared their language by virtue of having been enslaved by their countrymen, and was yet willing to serve them, and so to save them, when they had come to colonize his land. What description of grace could be more eloquent than Bradford’s words: “a special instrument sent from God for their good, beyond their expectation.”

So it was that, that winter, after they had gathered their harvest, they invited the King and ninety others of Squanto’s people to celebrate with them for three days of feasting and rejoicing, counting among their blessings: houses and dwellings, health and strength, and all things is good plenty. To us it was barely subsistence and yet, to them, abundance beyond imagining. So, they gave thanks not only for what they had received already, but for what they trusted God would provide. And so they taught us by example what our Scripture readings this evening would teach us by exhortation: humbly to receive God’s gifts of grace and faithfully to trust God’s providence.

These days, our expectations both of God and of ourselves are often so great that gifts of grace can be hard to see or to recognize. Most of us live with so many things in good plenty -- and work hard enough for them -- that do not often see our simple survival as a gracious gift of God. We see enough of a correlation between our work and our subsistence that we don’t always see God’s providence as clearly as our ancestors might have. In our abundance we worry more for our food, clothing and shelter than first century Christians or seventeenth century Pilgrims did in their poverty. And so the lesson may be harder for us to learn, humbly to receive God’s gifts of grace, and faithfully to trust God’s providence.

The words we heard from the prophet Joel were first spoken to a people who had been devastated by a plague and were fearful of drought, famine and foreign invasion, finding hope only in their humble, repentant faith in God.

The words we heard from the letter to Timothy were written at a time when Christians often feared persecution or execution by the rulers for whom they prayed, but they gave thanks for the gifts of Christ’s grace that allowed them to trust that God would provide a future more glorious than they could imagine.

And Jesus’ words, too, call us to faith rather than fear, anxiety or worry -- humbly to receive God’s gifts of grace and faithfully to trust God’s providence.

In today’s mail I received a newsletter from a sister congregation that included a list of things for which worshippers had expressed their thanks to God. It is a wonderful catalog of blessings, from the usual food, clothing and shelter, health and strength, family and friends, church and community -- to the more personal: one person’s dog, another’s doctor, a driver’s license, a telephone. I think of what Ralph Waldo Emerson is said to have told John Greenleaf Whittier when Whittier asked him what he prayed for. Emerson said: “When I first open my eyes upon the morning meadow and look out upon the beautiful world, I thank God that I am alive, and that I live so near Boston.”

But along with these blessings that sustain daily life, again and again, are listed these gifts of God’s grace: “forgiveness of sins“, “Christ’s promise of salvation“, “the neverending love of God“, and “the incredible generosity of almighty God, who cares even about me.”

I don’t know that anyone can teach another thankfulness by preaching or exhortation, and I’m sure that if anyone’s words could, it would Joel’s or Paul’s or Jesus’, and not mine. But I, at least, am inspired by the witness of the lives of the faithful from Joel to Paul to William Bradford, and of Christian brothers and sisters like many of you, for whom faith in Christ produces not only abundant thanks, but also the unshakable hope that comes from abundant trust in God’s gracious providence.

Tonight as we remember our spiritual ancestors we share another thanksgiving feast -- celebrating our safe passage to a new life, through the reconciling grace that only God could give. We come, humbly to receive God’s gifts of grace, and faithfully to trust in God’s providence, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

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Italicized quotations are from William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation, 1620-1647, Samuel Eliot Morrison, ed. (New York