There is a small difficulty with thanksgiving that nobody mentions when we are arranging pumpkins on the table and attempting to persuade the decorative gourds to look as though they arrived there naturally.
Gratitude does not always arrive naturally.
Sometimes we wake in the morning overflowing with thanksgiving. The sun is shining. The coffee is hot. The birds are singing. The household is peaceful. Our joints have apparently negotiated a temporary ceasefire with the rest of the body.
On such mornings, gratitude seems perfectly reasonable.
Then there are other mornings.
The coffee maker makes a noise normally associated with agricultural machinery. Someone has sent an email beginning, “I don’t want to complain, but…” which is one of civilization’s most reliable indications that complaining is about to begin. The weather forecast contains the word “system.” And the knee that behaved beautifully yesterday has apparently joined an opposition party overnight.
On those mornings, thanksgiving feels considerably less spontaneous.
And perhaps that is precisely why Scripture speaks so often about giving thanks.
The biblical writers do not seem to regard gratitude merely as a pleasant emotion that occasionally wanders into the human heart. They speak of thanksgiving as something we do.
“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever.”
Give thanks.
Not merely feel thankful.
There is an important difference.
Feelings are wonderful things, but they make unreliable spiritual directors. If we waited until we felt perfectly loving before loving our neighbour, perfectly courageous before doing what is right, perfectly generous before sharing what we have, or perfectly prayerful before praying, the Christian life would spend a great deal of time waiting in the hallway.
Faith frequently begins with practice.
We pray before we feel prayerful.
We forgive while some part of us is still muttering objections.
We worship when our hearts are distracted.
We love when loving requires effort.
And sometimes we give thanks before we feel particularly thankful.
Something remarkable happens when we do.
The practice begins changing the practitioner.
Gratitude Trains the Eyes
I suspect many of us imagine gratitude as the natural response to receiving something wonderful.
First comes the blessing.
Then comes the gratitude.
But spiritually, the relationship also works in the opposite direction.
Gratitude teaches us to recognize blessings we might otherwise overlook.
Imagine walking through an ordinary day asking one simple question:
What have I received today that I did not create entirely for myself?
Suddenly the world becomes crowded with gifts.
The morning light through the window.
The person who remembered your name.
The meal someone prepared.
The friend who telephoned.
The stranger who held the door.
The laughter that appeared unexpectedly in an otherwise serious afternoon.
The tree outside the window that has been quietly producing beauty for decades without once sending an invoice.
The breath entering your lungs.
The astonishing fact that someone somewhere discovered how to roast coffee beans.
We begin noticing.
And noticing is one of the great spiritual disciplines.
Because much of our unhappiness does not come from having nothing. It comes from becoming unable to see what we already have.
Our culture is extraordinarily accomplished at teaching dissatisfaction.
There is always something newer, larger, faster, thinner, smarter, younger, shinier, or available for twelve easy monthly payments.
Advertising depends upon convincing us that our lives contain a deficiency that can fortunately be corrected by purchasing something before midnight.
The Gospel offers a radically different education.
Jesus keeps pointing.
Look at the birds.
Look at the lilies.
Look at this child.
Look at this widow.
Look at this seed.
Look at this bread.
Look at this cup.
Look at what God is doing here.
Jesus seems determined to teach people how to see.
And gratitude is one of the ways our vision is healed.
Thanksgiving Does Not Require Pretending
There is, however, an important distinction.
Christian gratitude is not pretending everything is wonderful.
Some things are not wonderful.
Some losses hurt.
Some relationships break.
Some diagnoses frighten us.
Some prayers seem unanswered.
Some seasons of life contain more darkness than light.
There is no Christian virtue in standing in the middle of suffering and announcing cheerfully that everything is fine when everything is very clearly not fine.
The Psalms certainly do not do that.
They complain.
They lament.
They question.
They rage.
They weep.
And remarkably, they also give thanks.
Sometimes in the very same psalm.
Biblical faith has enough room for both grief and gratitude.
That may be one of the most important lessons of thanksgiving.
We do not have to choose between acknowledging what hurts and recognizing what remains good.
A person can grieve deeply and still be grateful for friendship.
A person can face uncertainty and still give thanks for today.
A person can carry disappointment and still notice beauty.
A person can stand beside a grave and thank God for the life of the person buried there.
Christian thanksgiving is not denial.
It is defiance.
It is the quiet refusal to allow sorrow to convince us that sorrow is the whole story.
The Strange Arithmetic of Grace
Grace has peculiar mathematics.
We tend to count what is missing.
God keeps inviting us to notice what has been given.
And once we begin doing that, something changes.
Not necessarily our circumstances.
Us.
Perhaps that is why the Eucharist stands at the centre of Christian worship.
The word Eucharist itself comes from the Greek word for thanksgiving.
At the heart of Christian worship, Jesus takes bread.
Ordinary bread.
Not gold.
Not jewels.
Not something rare enough to require security guards.
Bread.
He takes it.
Blesses it.
Breaks it.
Shares it.
And gives thanks.
That pattern has always seemed to me remarkably close to the Christian life.
Receive.
Give thanks.
Be broken open.
Share.
The life of gratitude eventually becomes the life of generosity.
Because once we recognize that life is gift, we become less desperate to clutch everything tightly.
We can share the bread.
We can make room at the table.
We can give away some of what we have received.
We can become part of someone else’s reason for giving thanks.
And perhaps that is where thanksgiving finally leads.
Not merely toward grateful hearts.
Toward generous lives.
Practising Thanksgiving
So here is a simple spiritual practice for today.
Before you go to bed tonight, name five things for which you are grateful.
Not spectacular things.
Ordinary things.
Perhaps especially ordinary things.
A conversation.
A meal.
A comfortable chair.
A patch of autumn colour.
Someone who made you laugh.
A moment of quiet.
A prayer.
A memory.
A kindness.
Name them slowly.
And then say:
Thank you, God.
Do it again tomorrow.
And the day after that.
Eventually you may discover something surprising.
The world has not suddenly become perfect.
Your problems have not vanished.
The difficult people in your life have probably not undergone dramatic personality transformations overnight, although hope remains one of the theological virtues.
But your eyes have changed.
You have begun to notice grace.
And once we begin noticing grace, we discover that God has been leaving traces of it everywhere.
Perhaps thanksgiving, then, is not something we save for one weekend in October.
Perhaps it is a way of walking through the world.
Eyes open.
Hands open.
Heart open.
Whispering again and again:
Thank you.
And discovering that the more often we say it, the more there seems to be for which to give thanks.
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Companion Prayer
Gracious God,
open my eyes to the gifts
I have grown too accustomed to seeing.
Teach me to give thanks
not only when life is easy,
but also when the road is uncertain
and the blessings are small and quiet.
Train my heart in gratitude,
my hands in generosity,
and my soul in the holy practice
of noticing your grace.
May I receive this day as gift,
share what I have been given,
and become a reason
for someone else to give thanks.
Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.