Thankfulness is a State of Mind, an Attitude, a Way of Life

Posted by Priest on October 11, 2009 under Sermons |

In last month’s newsletter to the parish, I wrote about gratitude (And if you didn’t receive the newsletter, please call the office to make sure you are not left out.) Of course, this was sparked by the closeness of Thanksgiving, which we celebrate today. And of course, our annual stewardship campaign, about which you will hear later in this service, has something to do with all this too. But I think the topic of thankfulness deserves to be spoken of often. As I wrote in the October newsletter:

Thankfulness isn’t just a response to something God has done. Thankfulness is a state of mind, is an attitude, is a way of life. … Yet, achieving this state of thankfulness takes practise, takes being intentional about our generosity.

End of quote.

Thankfulness takes practise.

But why? Why does it? Why is it that even important?

Isn’t it sufficient to just open our hearts, so we can experience how much God delights in us, how much the Creator values us? Isn’t it enough to trust Jesus who, in today’s Gospel-story reveals, “You are of more value than anything else”¹? Isn’t it enough to just be here?

Well, it is sufficient to know of God’s love for us. And I know for many even this is hard to swallow, hard to accept. Far too many experience themselves as unlovable, unredeemable, rejected and abandoned by God and their fellow human being.

Nothing could be further from the truth, though! God does not abandon us. God’s all-encompassing, accepting, overflowing, abundant love reaches out to each and every one of us, to you and me, whoever we are and wherever we find ourselves on the journey. We are worthy of God’s love. God is like a lover, who seeks to reach out to her beloved, seeks to pull us out of our darkness, our misery, our lethargy, and our death, seeks to swoop us up for a love-dance that dances in ways beyond our imagination.

And when we follow God’s call of love, when we let it sink into our hearts and souls, then our lives will change. Nothing will remain the same. We will not just want to be passive recipients of God’s love. We will want to respond to God’s call to dance. We will want to dance along, dance through the morning, dance through the day, dance through the night, dance for the rest of our lives, dance even through our death into the promise of God’s resurrection. I believe when God’s love embraces us we will want to respond by being thankful.

Gratefulness, though, doesn’t come naturally. A life lived out of thankfulness is not something we do easily. We must practise the steps of gratitude so that we can indeed dance along for the long haul, so that we don’t stand still and wither away. It is through practise, and not through passive reception that we will discover more of the beauty that the Creator of all things intends not just “for the birds of the air”²; or “the lilies of the field,”³ but also for each and every one of us.

One way to practise our steps, to practise thankfulness is by being intentional about sharing our resources, sharing what we have in time, talent, and treasure. After all, all that we are and all that we have comes from God: Any form of donation of our life and labour only returns to God what rightfully belongs to the Lover of our souls in the first place. Good stewardship of our resources and considering the needs of others and of God’s church bring us closer to God as they help build God’s reign of love, peace, and justice.

But there is another way of practising the gratefulness we have for the divine love: We can practise thankfulness by sharing with others what we are grateful for – and do so in a way beyond the walls of our hearts: with a family member, with a friend, or with a colleague.

I am always amazed how willingly we share all kinds of things with one another. Facebook and other websites are full of information. But when it comes to sharing our gratitude for the love that is the source of our lives we easily become shy and embarrassed. And it is hard… I know, because I am no better. In fact, I do get nervous about thinking of myself as somebody who shares publicly what has touched me so deeply inside. I get a little embarrassed as I was thinking about sharing the gratitude I have for God’s love for me. Yes, we all need practise!

But, here I am on this Thanksgiving Sunday. And I will give it a try. I will give it a try by sharing with you a couple of stories that do make me thankful. So, here it goes:

The most senior clergyperson of the Anglican Church of Canada, Archbishop Fred Hiltz, recently travelled to the Holy Land. He had been invited by the Episcopal Bishop of Jerusalem, who is our Anglican partner there. Bishop Suheil Dawani of Jerusalem took Fred to Gaza, a place filled with pain and injustice. The reason for this portion of the trip was this: A few months back, in the midst of a fierce outbreak of the conflict between the peoples of the Holy Land, as rockets, bullets, and missiles were flying, the Bishop of Jerusalem called out for help from his Anglican sisters and brothers. And Anglicans responded from all around the world and also from our diocese. Within weeks we were able to raise over $70,000 to support the Anglican hospital in Gaza.

While at the hospital, Fred met an Anglican staff member, a woman, one of a very few Anglicans left in the Gaza strip. When others had decided to leave, she had remained behind, faithfully serving the people of Gaza, whatever their religious background. Because of the travel restrictions, she had been cut off from her faith community: there was no Anglican Church, no Anglican priest, no Anglican worship service. However, there still was an Anglican chapel in the hospital. This was the only place of sanctuary left for this woman. The only time she could receive the sacrament was when a travelling Anglican clergyperson would visit the hospital – a rare and cherished occasion.

Of course, Fred was willing to do just that: to celebrate communion with his fellow bishop, with their respective staff members, and with this faithful Anglican woman. They gathered up some bread and some wine and made their way to the chapel. The chapel, however, had been shelled and there was rubble and debris everywhere. Yet, miraculously, the altar had been untouched, had survived the ferocious attack. Archbishop Hiltz moved to the altar and spread the corporal, the linen that represents the death cloth of Jesus. And together they celebrated communion. They remembered Jesus’ death. And they celebrated the feast of life, remembering also Jesus’ resurrection. In the midst of death and chaos, among suffering and pain, bread was broken, the cup was shared, and all were made one with Jesus the living Christ.

Did this celebration move mountains and end the violence and the injustice? No. Or I should say, not in a way that could be experienced right away with human eyes.

But hope shone forth and love touched each of their hearts. And God’s love-dance goes on – for the sake of this woman, for the sake of those she serves and in whose lives she makes a difference, and God’s love-dance goes on for the sake of those who hear of God’s faithfulness in a place that despite the appearance has not been abandoned by God.

I celebrate this story for the witness of the church. And I am thankful. Thankful for what our diocese has done in Gaza, thankful for Anglicans ministering in places of unrest and terror, thankful for the ministry of the Bishop of Jerusalem and our own primate, and thankful for this unnamed Anglican woman.

Well, this wasn’t so difficult, right?

Yet it’s not so easy to share when it comes to our own stories. Sharing about global encounters can be a first step. They can be a practise to move us into sharing the gratefulness of our own lives. And maybe sharing these bigger stories first, allows us to also think about our own lives.

So, let me share another story, a story a little bit closer to my heart. And I share this story not to make me look good or to seek your compassion for me. I am not fishing. Truth is: My life is as broken and as fragile as yours. And my life is as loved and as affirmed by the Creator as yours. And maybe this story will give you courage to think about your own stories, stories that will make you thankful.

I became an Anglican in the midst of my theological studies. Changing denomination is never easy. It always creates havoc. In my case, to become an Anglican I had to give up the security of home, language, culture, and family. Yet, I was happy to do it, because Anglicanism had given me life in ways I had not experienced before. I believe the fathers and mothers of the English Reformation were inspired by God in a particular way, as they celebrated with gusto God’s love and compassion for creation and God’s coming into our flesh in Jesus to walk our ways, to speak our words, to embrace us with human arms, and to heal us in body, mind and soul. Of course, this was enough of a reason to leave Germany…

… until I ran into a major stumbling block in my ordination process. It is a complicated story, one too long to tell from the pulpit on a Sunday morning. Let me just say this: it had nothing to do with anything particular I had done. But it had to do with cultural issues, with issues surrounding who God created me to be, and with my inability to translate my sense of God’s call into a language understood by the assessors.

When I received the negative letter from the Bishop, I was devastated. I plunged into a deep, dark hole. There seemed to be no way forward. I was cut off from my homeland (or so it seemed) and I was cut off from the church I had chosen (or so it seemed too). I was surrounded by a devastating void… until I decided to fly to Cambridge, Massachusetts to be with the brothers of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, a monastic order for men in the Episcopal Church.

When I arrived, I was taken in. I was nurtured and affirmed. I was surrounded by prayer and by care. I was supported and comforted. I experienced the celebration of the Eucharist in a way that restored my soul and my confidence. I wasn’t just “attending.” Centred in who God called them to be, the monks pulled me into their midst, so that the light of Christ could shine on me even more brightly. And God embraced me, lifted me out of my darkness and placed me again among God’s people.

To this day I am grateful in ways defying words to the brothers. And, more importantly, I am grateful to God, who is so present in this monastery and who, I now know, had never given up on me – and never will.

Phew!

Yes, this was difficult. It isn’t easy to share something personal so publicly. It is hard. But on this Thanksgiving Day it makes sense. It makes sense to remember and celebrate why I am here and, more importantly, to celebrate my thankfulness to God. Of course, there are many, many more stories. And I bet you have tons of stories too.

So, here is my challenge for you today.

In the coming week, take courage and share with someone a story that shows your gratitude for God’s love for you. I know it seems like a very un-Anglican thing to do. But it really isn’t. It isn’t, because as Anglicans we celebrate, yes, celebrate with gusto God’s love for us. And we should all be part of this celebration – even on weekdays, between Sunday services.

1 Matthew 6:26
2 Ibid
3 Matthew 6:28

[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on Thanksgiving Sunday, October 11, 2009.]