In Good Faith: Stuffed With Gratitude

In the Thanksgiving edition of my In Good Faith column, I write about carbs and why this year feels especially filled with gratitude.

Stuffed with Gratitude

It’s finally happening. After years of conformity, our family has at last spoken the silent part out

loud: we don’t love turkey. I mean, we all think it’s “fine.” There’s nothing inherently wrong with it. For years, we’ve gamely forked a bit of white and/or dark meat onto our plates, passed the platter, and politely asked someone to please pass the gravy. But shouldn’t the Super Bowl of feasts arouse culinary excitement and anticipation, rather than a humdrum feels-like-any-other-Thursday vibe?

“But it’s tradition!” you say. Well actually, if you’ll permit me a moment of mansplaining, there was no turkey served at the first Thanksgiving. The predominant dish was freshly killed deer, and there was also a boatload of Cod, which makes sense given the location. Lobster too, apparently, and I’d be happy to fully honor our heritage and go that route, if only everyone in my family ate lobster. And it wasn’t clocking in at $15 a pound. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. Our family isn’t comprised of a bunch of unenthusiastic tradition thwarters. We all love the Thanksgiving side dishes and, of course, the pies. Personally, I’m all about the carbs. The mashed potatoes, the stuffing, the cornbread. Bring. It. On. And I don’t care how low-brow it is, I always insist on Stove Top stuffing. Go ahead and make your fancy stuffing — I’ll probably have some of that too. As long as I get my annual allotment of Stove Top, I’m happy.

Food preferences aside, this year, more than anything, is about the people. We know it’s supposed to be about the people, but food and football often serve as helpful distractions to our respective dysfunctional families. The distasteful political commentary, the old family wounds, the painful shadow and ensuing shame of perfectionism. 

Yet after last year’s Thanksgiving, which left many among us feeling isolated and distanced from family, this year feels different. Yes, we’re still living in the midst of a global pandemic, but vaccines and boosters have allowed us to gather more safely. Nothing is without risk these days, but the mental health benefits of in-person gatherings, with proper precautions taken, are well documented. We need one another, and it is a good and joyful thing to gather together.

As you do so, please remember our Native American siblings for whom this day is remembered less as a day of gratitude and more as a day of mourning. Those feelings of isolation and distance which we felt last year are experienced every year by indigenous people throughout this nation. This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t gather and feast, but it does mean approaching the table with historical perspective and the awareness that our actions have consequences. Giving thanks to God and being grateful for the bounty that surrounds us can and should incorporate the tears of those who mourn. Which only adds depth and realism to our day of gratitude. 

Of course, family being family, it took forever to agree on a substitute main dish. All sorts of proposals were floated from Cornish hen to filet mignon to Chicken McNuggets. In the end, we all agreed on the ultimate comfort food: homemade chicken pot pie. I can live with that. So hold the turkey; but please do pass the carbs.

Now Thank We All Our God (Behind the Music)

One of my favorite Thanksgiving hymns is “Now thank we all our God.” I like it because of its sentiment; I like it because I can follow the tenor line; but mostly I like it because of the story behind it. 

This joyful hymn of gratitude wasn’t written because things were going well. It’s easy to be

thankful in the midst of prosperity. Rather it was written in 1636 by a Lutheran pastor named Martin Rinkart in the midst of war-torn Germany.

Pastor Rinkart came to serve a congregation in the old walled city of Eilenberg in Saxony at the beginning of what came to be known as the 30 Years War. Now, if you don’t remember your middle school European history class, the 30 Years War was fought in central Europe, amid a swirl of religious and political discord, and was one of the most destructive and deadliest conflicts in human history. Eight million people died through a lethal combination of military engagements, famine, and plague. It finally ended in 1648 with the Peace of Westphalia, but not until after the devastation of entire regions.

Eilenberg became a refuge for political and military fugitives, an oasis of sorts in the midst of a war-torn region. But this brought problems of overcrowding, leading to widespread famine and rampant disease. Eilenberg was also invaded by various armies over the years, causing even more anguish and destruction for both residents and refugees. The suffering is hard to imagine, but when you read stories about throngs of half-starved, plague-ridden townspeople fighting over the corpse of a single dead cat, you get the idea.

Things were tough for Pastor Rinkart as he sought to minister to the people of his congregation and eventually to everyone in the besieged town. In the year he wrote his now famous hymn, there were four pastors in Eilenberg. By the end of that year, one had fled for his life and never returned, while the other two contracted the plague and died, leaving Rinkart as the only pastor in town. During the height of yet another diseased-riddled year, Rinkart was conducting up to 50 funerals a day and in 1637 he officiated at over 4,000 burials, including one for his own wife. With his tenure in Eilenberg paralleling nearly exactly the duration of the 30 Years War, he spent his entire vocational life ministering to others, barely surviving on limited rations, giving away most of what he did have, and having the soldiers who forcibly stayed in his home stealing anything that was left over.

It’s hard to imagine his state of mind in the midst of such despair and heartache. And yet, in the depths of such overwhelming sorrow, Rinkart penned “Now thank we all our God,” a hymn so full of hope and gratitude. Rather than a lament, he summoned the joy emblematic of a deep and abiding faith in Jesus Christ. And I find this remarkably inspiring, much more so than someone writing of God’s bountiful grace while surveying a Thanksgiving table heavy laden with rich foods.

As you gaze upon the bounty of your own Thanksgiving feast, I encourage you to think about Pastor Rinkart and be inspired by his story. Recall that this hymn was composed as a bold statement of faith, not just a nice sentiment about gratitude. 

While Rinkart was a prolific hymn writer, he also used this text as a grace before meals with his own family. Perhaps you will use it this way as well. I could think of no better way to give thanks to our God “with heart and hand and voices, who wondrous things has done, in whom his world rejoices.”

Now thank we all our God

with heart and hands and voices,

who wondrous things has done,

in whom his world rejoices;

who from our mothers' arms

has blessed us on our way

with countless gifts of love,

and still is ours today.

O may this bounteous God

through all our life be near us,

with ever joyful hearts

and blessed peace to cheer us,

to keep us in his grace,

and guide us when perplexed,

and free us from all ills

of this world in the next.

All praise and thanks to God

the Father now be given,

the Son and Spirit blest,

who reign in highest heaven

the one eternal God,

whom heaven and earth adore;

for thus it was, is now,

and shall be evermore. 

Top 10 Reasons to Attend the Community Thanksgiving Service

Interior of Old Ship Church in Hingham, MA

It's that time of the year. The time when people of faith across all denominations "gather together to ask the Lord's blessing" by holding community Thanksgiving services. There are several reasons these are held in towns across America: it's a tradition, ie. we've always had one; lazy local ministers can get out of holding their own services; and it's a time when people of all faiths can come together at a place other than the soccer field on Sunday morning.

Here in Hingham, I participate in a Thanksgiving Eve service at Old Ship Church, the country's only remaining 17th century Puritan meeting house and current Unitarian house of worship. Then on Thanksgiving Day at 9:00 am we celebrate the Great Thanksgiving at St. John's -- something that likely makes Puritans roll over in their graves since they fled to America to get away from the Church of England.

If the following list sounds familiar, it's an excerpt from my book Father Tim's Church Survival Guide (Morehouse, 2015). If it doesn't ring a bell, buy the book. But only if your faith comes with a major dose of humor.

Top 10 Reasons to Attend the Community Thanksgiving Service

Each November all the local clergy and a disproportionately small number of townspeople gather for the Interfaith Community Thanksgiving Service at the local Congregational church. It’s nice to gather, certainly, and I appreciate knowing all the local clergy. But at a completely different level, there are many good (well, 10) reasons to attend such services. Thus, I offer you my:

Top Ten Reasons to Attend the Community Thanksgiving Service

1. When else would you get to hold a bulletin emblazoned with cornucopia clip-art?

2. To prove the superior vesture of Episcopalians (or, at what point does an abundance of polyester cassock-albs become a fire hazard?).

3. To get away from the in-laws for an hour while they dispute the ingredients of your late grandmother’s stuffing recipe.

4. To worship God in lowest common denominator form (along with several references to Mother Earth).

5. To pray that parishioners from other churches will see the light and join your congregation.

6. To enjoy seeing the area clergy being paraded around in front of the congregation like a police line-up (“Hey, you, number two Methodist; stand next to that Presbyterian and sing ‘Eagles’ Wings’”).

7. To take bets on how many times the hosting cleric will say the word “welcome.”

8. To witness hearing all the participating clergy being given a line or two (in the name of inclusion) so it feels like a third grade play.

9. Since the rest of your family refuses to go, it makes for a contemplative time.

10. To enjoy the post-service store-bought brownies and punch reception (a result of several unnamed Protestant denominations for whom wine is anathema).

As an Episcopalian I look forward to celebrating Thanksgiving with The Great Thanksgiving. All the rest is just icing on the turkey. 

Happy #Snarksgiving!

It seems most appropriate on this Black Friday, to share some thoughts from the (still bloated) underbelly of Thanksgiving. Over on Twitter yesterday several rather snarky clerics created a Litany of #Snarksgiving throughout the day. It was an enjoyable and humorous exercise in between courses and conversations and quarters (the football variety, not the drinking game).

I felt compelled to compile these intercessions in case the Liturgical Standing Committee of the Episcopal Church ever authorizes a shadow Book of Common Prayer. I'll share the names of the participants but, for fear of reprisals, I won't attribute them. Of course, if you're on Twitter you can go back and figure it out but I'm betting no one has the energy or will to actually do that.

Besides me, contributors included the Rev.'s Laurie Brock, Scott Gunn, Anne Lane Witt, and the ever-mysterious ChurchSnobTEC. If you're on the Twitters, I suggest following these folks -- never a dull moment when they get going. But without further ado here it is:

Litany of #Snarksgiving

For people who say, "Get up! Let's go DO SOMETHING instead of nap!" We give snarks.

For family members who don't like football and consider it rude to put the TV on, we give snarks.

For distant relatives who call and have the phone passed all around, we give snarks.

For in-laws who can't travel without small, yappy dogs, we give snarks.

For a mother-in-law who'd hadn't yet put the turkey in when we arrived (!), we give snarks.

For having to make culinary compromises for vegans, we give snarks.

For those who consider pigs in a blanket an appropriate appetizer, we give snarks.

For being overstimulated & undermedicated, we give snarks.

For those posting pictures of food on Facebook, we give snarks.

For inane discussions about the moose lodge, we give snarks.

For family members who think alcohol is "of the devil," we give snarks. (And drink. Wine.)

For Reunite as the "good" wine, we give snarks.

For people who think Thanksgiving is the right day to bust out Christmas music, we give snarks.

For family that buys champagne but doesn't put it on ice, we give snarks.

For those who insist holiday cocktail hour doesn't begin until happy hour, we give snarks.

For the children's table at ages 35+, we give snarks.

For less sleep than we get during the work week, we give snarks.

For guests who don't leave after the pie, we give snarks.

For being put in a twin bed like we're 12, we give snarks.

For relatives that didn't buy Bloody Mary mix, we give snarks.

For traditional family dishes that no one likes, we give snarks.

For family that awake us from naps and then won't go away, we give snarks.

Well, there we go. We hope you enjoyed this litany and encourage you to use it in place of grace at next year's Thanksgiving feast.

Top Ten Reasons to Attend the Community Thanksgiving Service

As I prepared for this evening's Interfaith Community Thanksgiving Service at the local Unitarian church, I began to reflect on why we hold these "liturgies." It's nice to gather, certainly, and I appreciate knowing all the local clergy. But at a completely different level, there are many good (well, 10) reasons to attend such services. Thus, I offer you my:

Top Ten Reasons to Attend the Community Thanksgiving Service

1. When else would you get to hold a bulletin emblazoned with cornucopia clip-art?

2. To prove the superior vestiture of Episcopalians (or, at what point does an abundance of polyester cassock-albs become a fire hazard?).

3. To get away from the in-laws for an hour while they dispute the ingredients of your late grandmother's stuffing recipe.

4. To worship God in lowest common denominator form (along with several references to Mother Earth).

5. To pray that parishioners from other churches will see the light and join your congregation.

6. To enjoy seeing the area clergy being paraded around in front of the congregation like a police line-up ("Hey, you, number two Methodist; stand next to that Presbyterian and sing 'Eagles' Wings'").

7. To take bets on how many times the hosting cleric will say the word "welcome."

8. To witness hearing all the participating clergy being given a line or two (in the name of inclusion) so it feels a third grade play.

9. Since the rest of your family refuses to go it makes for a contemplative time.

10. To enjoy the post-service store-bought brownies and punch reception (a result of several unnamed Protestant denominations for whom wine is anathema).

I look forward to celebrating Thanksgiving with The Great Thanksgiving tomorrow at 9:00 am. It will be most welcome.

And, finally, I bid everyone a blessed Thanksgiving (regardless of denomination!).