Thanksgiving
Psalm 103
When I was four, my family moved from Georgia to North Carolina. I have many stories in my collective consciousness concerning Georgia, but all were learned from hearing tales around the dinner table. My family, especially my father loved to tell stories. Like most families we heard the stories so many times dad would start and we could finish it from memory. The good news is my father’s stories were not limited to his experiences. He had a keen understanding of history. So on days like Thanksgiving we would be given a full recitation of the all the events surrounding Plymouth Rock. Once I asked, “Did our ancestors come to the New World on the Mayflower?” He would shake his head and say, “No, we arrived on a different boat, but we should still give thanks to God.”
When I was nine, my family moved to Virginia. Dad had spent part of his childhood in Martinsville so this sparked a whole new set of stories. Exploratory trips were taken to Williamsburg, Yorktown, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, Appomattox and Mitchie Tavern. On Thanksgiving, the stories reverted from Plymouth Rock to Jamestown. I can remember Dad telling us about those Virginians who gave thanks to God 14 years before the arrival of the Pilgrims. He would brag that Myles Standish had nothing on John Smith and those 108 hardy settlers who arrived in 1607. We visited the settlement, and dad took us aboard the replicas of the Susan Constant, Godspeed and the Discovery. I figured one of these ships must have been my family’s transportation from England to the New Colonies so again I asked, “Were these my ancestors?” Again he responded, “No, we arrived on a different boat, but we should still give thanks to God.”
At some point in time I figured my father had information he was not quite willing to divulge. But I was persistent. “Dad, what boat brought us to America?” He looked at me and said, “Son, we are from Georgia. Our story is not quite as heroic as John Smith or the Pilgrims. Then Dad took a deep breath and shared either the narrative of my heritage or a fabrication created from actual facts. Great stories often bare a touch of imagination. In 1729 an Englishmen named James Oglethorpe had a friend who die of smallpox in a debtor’s prison. Oglethorpe decided there had to be a better solution than prison for folks who had stepped outside the law. With the blessings of King George, Oglethorpe established a colony at the present site of Savannah. The site was made up exclusively of inmates from English and Scottish prisons. These men and their families worked off their debts as indentured servants. Once the debt was paid they were given land in the colony of Georgia.
After hearing the story I asked if he knew what my ancestor’s crimes might have been. He smiled and said, “They were Highland Scots. I imagine they were sheep thieves, but they still gave thanks to God.”
Today on the eve of Thanksgiving, we each claim stories concerning the boats our ancestors sailed to reach this land. Perhaps there is someone here who can trace their linage back to Jamestown or Plymouth Rock. Maybe your ancestors and mine shared dried fish and hardtack on their way to Savannah. Possibly your ancestors rejoiced on seeing the Statute of Liberty rising out of New York Harbor. Many of us have friends whose ancestors cursed their loss of liberty when they entered Charleston Harbor in chains. We lie to ourselves when we believe the glory of our national endeavors outweighs the shame of our corporate sins. Slavery is part of our history and history serves little purpose when told incorrectly.
Our nations ancestors arrived at this place by a variety of boats. Many crossed an Ocean; some crossed the desert; a few where already here before the boats arrived. All have heard and then shared their unique stories around the dinner table. Today, despite our different histories, our boats have docked at this place to give thanks to God.
I look out at this wonderful group who has gathered to sing and give thanks. You make this place sacred by your presence. Not only do we come from different lands, we come from a variety of different denominations. Baptist and Methodist have docked their boats, here, to praise God, together. Catholics and Lutherans have docked their boats, here, to praise God, together. Presbyterians and non-denominationalist have docked their boats, here, to praise God, together. If I have overlooked someone I know, you will forgive me because today we have not come to be recognized, we have come that God may be glorified. We have not come to sing our praise, we have come to sing God’s praise. We have come to fill our hearts. We have come to be together. We came that we might give thanks to God.
How appropriate that on this eve of Thanksgiving, this service of praise, this service of remembrance, we should be regaled with words of the 103rd Psalm. “Bless the Lord O my soul, and all that is within bless God’s Holy name. Bless the Lord O my soul and all that is within me give thanks for God’s grace.” Today; together as one; we dare to lift our voices in praise and thanksgiving to:
The God who forgives;
The God who heals;
The God who redeems;
The God who offers steadfast love and mercy.
Today; together as one; we dare to lift our voices in praise and thanksgiving to:
The God who saved the Pilgrims from the harshness of winter;
The God who revived the Virginians from the dismay of disease;
The God who rescued the Georgians from the disgrace of prison;
The God who offers safe harbor for anyone seeking freedom.
Today, together as one;
We dare to lift our voices in praise and thanksgiving to our great and merciful God:
who abhorrers and eradicates human bondage;
who offers a path in the wilderness to the sojourner;
who responds to the cries of the oppressed;
who restores exiles to the land of their birth.
We arrived on different boats, but today, together as one, we give thanks to God.
Our histories and our stories are different. We are the sons and daughters of the faceless men and woman, farmers and slaves, tailors and butchers, soldiers and sailors, who labored, constructing lives for themselves, their children, and their grandchildren, brick by brick, rail by rail, calloused hand by calloused hand, dreaming of ways to perfect our imperfect union.
We arrived on different boats,
But today, together as one, we give thanks to God.
The Psalmist reminds us that our days are like grass,
We will flourish like the flowers of the field,
We will disappear with the fickleness of the wind.
But the steadfastness of the Lord is everlasting.
We came on different boats,
But today, together as one, we give thanks to God.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
May God’s grace give us grace.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
May God’s Hope give us Hope.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
May God’s Love give us Love.
Bless the Lord, O may soul.
My the God of Grace, Hope and Love,
Bind us together,
In this one boat,
As today,
Together,
We give thanks to God.
Amen.
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