As Thanksgiving
approaches, then passes, we pause and focus our lenses on this uniquely
American holiday. As we’ve said, the three of us, great friends though we are,
are not all alike. We see things differently sometimes, as our individual
perspectives on Thanksgiving so starkly demonstrate:
Woodson
I feel conflicted at Thanksgiving. I
find joy and sadness uncomfortably co-existing within my spirit.
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| The First Thanksgiving |
I remember celebrating Thanksgiving in grade school at Holly
Springs Elementary. My teacher, my mom,
invariably led us in a traditional Thanksgiving carol that went something like:
“The year 1620 the Pilgrims
came over. They landed at Plymouth Rock,
then built up their homes. At harvest time, they started our Thanksgiving Day.”
My mother didn’t teach us the Pilgrims were European immigrants who had,
through war, confiscated from the natives the land on which they celebrated.
She didn’t tell us native resistance to European conquest persisted until 1898.
So, each season when I sit down to a wonderful Thanksgiving
meal with family and friends, I can’t help but ask myself: How do my Native
American brothers and sisters feel today? The disenfranchisement of Native
American voters in North Dakota this year reminded me of their
unique struggle.
I am truly grateful to be an American, but what about them?
While I have much for which to be thankful – a superb education, a wonderful
wife, five great children, a hopeful future, and a guardian of my liberty in a
free press – I can’t help but wonder how Native Americans feel. Do they feel as
native South Africans felt under apartheid? I wonder.
Rob
The Tuesday evening before
Thanksgiving week, I sat in a church with my significant other and almost 600 others
for the 20th annual Faiths Together Thanksgiving program near my home in The
Woodlands, Texas. This celebration promotes religious acceptance and convenes
the area’s faith traditions for an evening of music, inspirational messages,
fellowship, and food. Some congregations refuse participation apparently out of a reluctance to join in services with certain other religious groups. Nevertheless, the program brings together Christians, Jews,
Muslims,
Hindus. and many other faith groups in a learning experience about one another and a
celebration of commonality, not an accentuation of difference.
As I sat there listening, for example, as a Muslim professor
described the numerous references to Jesus in the Quran
and watching the joyous faces in a choir made up of
members from seven or eight
different congregations, I felt especially thankful for living in a country
where such a thing can happen. Despite America’s imperfections, we get many things
right, religious freedom being one of them. Increasing hatred based on
religious bias notwithstanding, our First
Amendment and its twin guarantees of freedom from the tyranny of a
state sanctioned church and from government interference in worship, including
the right not to worship at all, stands almost alone in the world in its
protection of religious choice. Citizens of many countries could never attend a
program like Tuesday’s. I give thanks such a thing can happen in my country.
Henry
In my childhood, Thanksgiving was an exceptionally joyful
time for interacting with family and friends. The fall colors,
wonderful
aromas, the school and church plays, and visits with family members made
my world a beautiful, safe place full of love and enjoyment. There was a
continuing expression of thankfulness at home, school, and church. Our church, in fact, distributed dinners to
the needy, though I didn’t then understand the depth of poverty and want in our
world.
As the years passed, Thanksgiving became more complex. Yes,
we still enjoyed family and friends and I helped our church distribute meals to
the needy. I got my kids involved by promising a great breakfast at a
restaurant if they woke up early enough to help. The bribe worked.
In the midst of this joy, a pervasive sadness attached itself
to me, a sadness I haven’t shaken. As we give thanks for our bounty, I think of
all the pain, hunger, loneliness, and hopelessness far too many people across
the globe feel. So, I increase my giving and I volunteer more, searching for ways
of helping, and I guess, quelling that sadness.
I’ve concluded sorrow may be the price we pay for refusing to
express the kind of love that would help those in need. We have the resources
and technical skill that would end hunger, but we don’t. Practical solutions
are complex and we erect walls of indifference and apathy. Suppose, however,
each of us found a way to make some difference each day. We might stumble upon
a movement.
How can I ask for
Blessings
On the Universe
And not universal
Blessing?
Though I cannot
comprehend All
I can entertain the
notion of All
And
Wish you well
While enhancing that
solitary Blessing
With the constant
universal march of Grace
Does absolution follow?
