Alone. Cold. He sits in a barren,
sparse room, hands losing feeling, trying desperately to be interested an
ancient classic text on rhetoric assigned over the break. He’s behind—planned to
finish it yesterday. His room at the top of the creaky house is below
comfortable even for him—a numbing 30 degrees or so. The window leaks icicle
air. On a day associated with friends, family, and food, his friends are
absent, his family more so—two thousand six hundred and forty-four miles away,
to be exact. And he skipped breakfast. His bank account’s low and college (not
to mention living) is everlastingly expensive. Throw in the fact that he’s
twenty-five and alone in the universe. What has this poor sap to be thankful
for? What good is Thanksgiving Day to him?
Providentially, I can answer that
question. See, the pathetic figure above, the one might feel a few pangs of
sympathy for? He’s me. And the pangs (provided it’s not really just hunger for
your aromatic, juicy turkey in the oven) aren’t necessary. Perspective, as the fellow
said, is everything.
The first time in the Bible that I can find with the
phrase “give thanks” is in Chronicles, where David has written a worship song
on the occasion of God coming to be with His people. The Ark of the Covenant
has come to Jerusalem. “Give thanks to Jehovah, for He is good, His steadfast
love endures forever!” That phrase resounds again, and again, and again—from temple
worship to manifold psalms, from the letters of the apostles to the twenty-four
elders who everlastingly fall before the face of God. It is a mark of His
people and priests that they give thanks. It is also a mark of His enemies that
they do not: “…they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they
became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened.” Thus
Paul in Romans. Thanksgiving, it seems, is a fundamentally Godly activity.
Unlike the pagans or the Pelagians, we bring nothing to God. We can claim no due. It is just a
gift, all the way down, and we are to be thankful the same way. All—the way—down.
That perspective? Hogwash and humbug. I’m not really
alone. I have God. And even though He should be enough, He’s more generous than
that. Santa’s got nothing on my Father. I’ve got an invitation to another
family’s celebration this afternoon. Some of my friends will be there too. My
own family called and said they love me and think of me, even over two thousand
miles away. I’m better off financially than most of Africa, and have a solid
roof over my head. The temperature is cool, but unlike ninety percent of the
world, I like cool. And it’s even
closer to where I like it after I randomly found a space heater in the closet
this morning. My Father gives like that. As for the money and the relationships—I can thank God for what I
expect Him to do, as well as what He’s already done. Think of Abraham. And
honestly, the homework will get done. Eventually. I have faith.
God’s love is not measured by our own. It is better than
mine. I can take perverse glee in the discomfort and pain of those I love.
Worse, I can ignore them entirely. I focus purely on my wants and pains and lusts
and various other short-sighted obstacles. Look up, God whispers. Those look
big to you, the same way a walnut looks gigantic to an ant. Look beyond to the
oak tree. Psalm 1. Isaiah 61. Remember your God, and give thanks. For
computers. Turkeys. Wheat thins. Swords. Books. Family. Lots of family. Slippers. Crosses. Beans. Guns. Empty tombs. Board
games. Girls. Elephant shrews. Movies. Oatmeal crème pies. Jobs. Magic rings. Last stands. Pizza.
Friends. Unexpected adventures. It’s all from Me. The least you can do is thank
your Father.
Amen. Thanks to Jehovah, for He is good, His steadfast
love endures forever, even unto anno
domini MMXV and beyond. For He said in their land they shall possess a
double portion; they shall have everlasting joy. Can’t wait to see what I can
thank Him for next year!
