Thanksgiving Day, November 27, 2008
The people were tired. Not just the tiredness of a few late nights, but the bone-deep never-relenting weariness
of forty years spent on the move,
setting camp just long enough
to learn which spring had the best water,and where the best grazing was
for their sheep and goats, and which track to follow
to get to the place where there were wild figs.
And when they finally felt settled, and had managed to clean the dust of the journey from their belongings
and no longer felt grit between their teeth and in their eyes,
then
they would be on the move again,
packing their pots and pans, folding away their tents, rounding up the animals and children
and heading off on an uncertain path
to a promised land.
They’d heard the stories of Egypt,
of whips and chains,
of plagues and death;
okay, so they understood why their parents and grandparents had left.
And they understood the lure of a promised land -
who wouldn’t want to have a place
that you could call your own?
And especially one
that promised food in abundance, and natural resources, and wealth,
everything to live
a good life.
And they’d heard that once upon a time
their parents and grandparents
had been close
but turned away again, turned back into the wilderness.
Because the land wasn’t empty
just waiting for them to come and fill it;
the land had people, strong people whose bodies had never known hunger,
people with walled cities and great warriors to defend them.
And so the people of God
had turned back into the wilderness
and been wandering round
ever since.
But this was a new generation,
and they were done with wandering,
or at least
done with the illusion
that there was a purpose
to it all.
More and more
they had begun to wonder
if the truth of it all
was that Moses was lost.
And didn’t want
to admit it.
Or maybe
didn’t want to admit
that the whole idea
of entering this land
was hopeless
and it was time to make the best of things,
choose a site well away from the other tribes wandering the hills,
and settle there.
Maybe not the land of promise, but at least a place
they could call their own.
Or maybe it was
that Moses would have stopped,
but now, a generation later,
they had lost the skills of settlement.
No one was left from those days in Egypt
who knew how to make
the bricks of mud and straw
that you need to build a city,
and without walls
it was too dangerous to stay too long in one place.
And no-one knew how to grow the crops
that they would need to feed themselves
when the wild food ran out.
They were a bedraggled lot, the people of God.
Looking like any other refugees
in search of a new homeland.
And then Moses called them together,
and he began to speak.
He reminded them of their history;
he reminded them
of the commands God had given.
And most of all, he reminded them
of the promised land.
A land, he said, of plenty. A land with streams and springs,
so they would no longer have dig down through hard rock
or try to purify brackish water.
A land with crops already planted
and orchards established.
A land with mineral resources
and everything they could possibly need
not only to live
but to flourish.
It was a rich land, a wonderful land, a blessed land.
And they would they would,
they would
get to live there.
But with the promise
came a warning.
Don’t forget God.
When you’re surrounded with so many blessings
don’t forget the one
who has blessed you.
Because we all know how it is. When things go well
we’re proud of what we’ve done, what we’ve made happen.
When things go badly
we look to blame someone else.
Just as the people of God, time after time
as they wandered in the wilderness
blamed God for their misfortune,
there is every likelihood that faced with blessing
they will congratulate themselves
and forget God’s hand
in that blessing.
It won’t be deliberate.
When they first cross
the river Jordan
they will be full of thanksgiving,
relieved
that the promise is at last fulfilled.
But then they will notice
that the land isn’t empty.
That there are fortified cities
and armies coming against them,
and they will fight them
and win
and as time goes on
what they will likely remember
is the victories
they have won,
more than the blessing
God has given them.
And so Moses reminds them
to remember. To remember
and to give thanks.
Our country
is not
the promised land. Or at least,
not the land that was promised to the people of God in Deuteronomy.
But the description of Deuteronomy rings true. Because this is a land
of great bounty.
Just look around us.
If you’ve ever sat on Short Beach at sunset
or taken a canoe down the Nissequogue River
you know how beautiful this place is.
If you’ve ever
drunk wine from the North Fork
or bought fruit and vegetables from the farm stands scattered east of us,
or picked a tomato
ripe from the plant in your yard,
you’ll know how rich and fruitful the soil is here.
And thats just Long Island.
The United States has been blessed
with so much natural bounty, from the rugged mountains
kissed with snow
to the wide open plains that are great for crops
from deserts teeming with unexpected life
to sandy beaches and rocky headlands.
And under the earth
there is iron and coal and oil and gas and even gold.
It is a place of great blessing.
And for the pilgrims, and English, French and Spanish explorers and settlers before them,
and for those who have come to these shores since then
this has been a promised land.
It has been a place
where they could live and flourish,
a place where they
and we
have experienced blessing.
And they, and we,
have taken those blessings
and increased their abundance.
Freed from the fear of starvation
we were able to turn our energy
to other things,
to education
and business
and the creation of wealth.
And this country
has flourished.
But like the people of God
we forget.
We forget
that while we have worked hard to get where we are today,
at the heart of it all
is the gift of God.
The gift of life,
the gift of freedom,
the gift of a bounteous land.
And so the book of Deuteronomy calls us
to remember,
to remember
and to give thanks.
Even now
when things are tough,when the economy is a mess
and most of us, I suspect,
are carrying around
a kind of knot of fear somewhere in our stomachs,
we are blessed.
I was reminded of this yesterday at the Smithtown Food Pantry.
Car after car came through to pick up baskets of food for Thanksgiving.
Some people
were almost in tears
as they received a washing basket full of groceries, a turkey
and a pie.
There were people who had lost their jobs
and people who work full time but whose wages are too low
to make ends meet,
young families and older people.
All of them struggling,
and all of them so thankful
that we could give them food.
We thought
we weren’t going to have enough for everyone who needed help;
we thought we were going to have to give gift cards rather than turkeys.
But even as we handed out food from the front porch
more was arriving in the back.
It was like the miracle of the loaves and fishes;
everyone was fed
and we even had leftovers
to donate to a soup kitchen.
And you couldn’t help being thankful,
thankful for the generosity of so many people,
thankful that we didn’t need to ask for that help,
thankful for the people who came for help,
who are our brother and sisters.
even when times are tough
we can pull together
and see
the blessing of God.
God is good. All the time
All the time
God is good.
Let us give thanks.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2008