“I don’t feel very thankful this year.”
The church member who said that to me many years ago was not saying anything that others hadn’t thought before. The fact that it was said in the context of a Church School class was the most surprising thing: the nodding of heads around the table gave silent agreement to the unspoken thoughts of many classmates. As the pastor/teacher of this class, I tried to understand the frustration offered so generously (why, O why, do people not generously offer us more positive comments?).
Sometimes, we don’t feel very grateful, that’s for sure. It’s not that we are not grateful, but we don’t feel that warm fuzzy vibration in our guts that signals a “real” experience. There is no choking up in our throats, no watering of our eyes, no sense of a memorable moment occurring. Yeah, God, we thank you for our blessings. Yawn. What’s next?
I’m gonna make this as simple as I can: we need to learn to say “thank you.” We need to practice it regularly, even when we don’t feel all gooey inside about gratitude. We need to do it. It points to the one truth of the universe for all of us: none of us does this whole life thing alone. We are dependents, every one of us. The language of gratitude is the language of recognizing this deep truth. Gratitude, then, is (as Brother David Steidl-Rast says) “waking up” to the deepest reality of our existence.
Once long ago, I asked a group of ten-year-olds in Church School whether or not God still spoke to us. One little mystic popped up and answered,”God does, but we just don’t recognize God’s language.” When I asked what she meant, she continued, “If we spent lots of time with God, we would eventually learn how God is, what God’s voice sounds like, and we would learn to speak the language God uses.”
Dumbfounded, I left the class and made a couple of notes and walked into worship and preached her sermon.
I think gratitude is like that. People who are never intentionally and regularly grateful cannot on one day of the year suddenly say a meaningful “Thank you” to whatever source of meaning is in their lives. Others, who are mindful of this generous universe we sometimes call “God,” know how interdependent we are with everything around us, and they find “Thank you” to be the only authentic response to breathing each moment of their lives.
So, this year, I’m gonna try something different: I want to wake up to “Thank you.” There’s going to be a note placed somewhere I’ll see it to remind me (probably on my bathroom mirror). I’m going to practice saying “Thank you” to what the old hymn calls this “bounteous God.” With heart, and head, and voice.
Maybe with practice, I’ll be able to speak a language of gratitude and be able to recognize what it is to be a grateful. And in being more grateful, I’ll be more aware of the immensity of this gift we call “life.”
Then, maybe I’ll practice learning the rest of the languages of God.
About jamiebrame
Greetings, fellow earthlings. I'm the retired Program Director at Christmount, the national retreat, camp, and conference center of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), in Black Mountain, NC. From September 2019 through October, 2020, I served Timberlake Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Lynchburg, VA, as interim minister. After taking more than a year off, First Christian Church (DoC), Wilson, NC, offered me the position of Interim Minister, beginning May 10, 2022.
Originally from Eden, NC, I graduated from John Motley Morehead High School, earned a BA in Religion and Philosophy at Atlantic Christian College (now Barton College), and eked out a Master of Divinity from the Divinity School at Duke University. I served, in various positions, churches (part time and full time) in North Carolina and Georgia, and have lived in Black Mountain, NC, since 1989. I married Renae in 1992 (she refers to these years as "looooooooooong" years.
I've spent the past 50 years or so trying to practice Christian contemplative prayer with some touches of Zen meditation to help the journey along. Married to a wife who is much holier than I am, I am fortunate to learn from her daily about how to do this thing called spirituality. Being an ordained minister doesn't make me holy (but occasionally, as you'll read, a little sanctimonious, so forgive me in advance!); but I hope that I put my education to good use.
I'd love to be considered a spiritual teacher, but I know myself too well to claim that. While I do a bit of teaching, I think the best teaching we do is when we remain silent (the old desert abba said something like, "if you won't learn from my silence, you won't learn from my talking"). But silence shouldn't turn into quietism, and we do have to speak out and act for justice and fairness and equality for all.
I frequently ask myself the question, "Does it matter?" about the major - and minor - issues of the day. What I think matters: love for God, equality, fairness, loving our neighbor, feeding hungry people, housing homeless ones, clothing naked ones, and especially caring for children; basically, caring for those who have some trouble caring for themselves. AND our relationship with God.
What doesn't matter: what you think of me. I'm not very Christ-like. You won't hear me talking about all the things I do for others, or all the things I do for God - I was taught that It's not about me, and using good works to get attention for myself isn't what Christian faith is about - look up "narcissism" on Google. I'm not sure Jesus thinks it matters much that I am like him or not, but I do. The old story from the rabbis is probably apropo: when I am hauled up before God at the end of time, God isn't going to ask me why I wasn't more like someone else: I will be asked why I wasn't more like me. The rabbis tell the story better.
I'm still a work in progress, as Renae will attest to.
Finally, I just hope that something you read here will make you think. Use what you can, ignore the rest. Go read some of the desert saints. Read the classics. Take care of people, never point to yourself, and don't follow me: I'm just hoping to be one more signpost to God.
And as one friend reminded me the week before I left Christmount, "It matters."
Oh, and my favorite color is probably blue, and I love cats, and I love my wife's music. I don't like beets.
Does It Matter 