November 20, 2005

Rev. Henry Ticknor
Unitarian Universalist Church of the Shenandoah Valley

Thanks-Giving

This isn’t going to be the sermon I had intended to give on the Sunday before Thanksgiving.

Originally I thought I might continue the adventure into Unitarian Universalist history that I began last week with the retelling of the Life of Michael Servetus and replicate a worship service from the time of the pilgrims that, to be authentic, would include a two or three hour sermon on a topic such as gluttony, atonement or the justification of faith.

And then I thought I might give a sermon on the history of Thanksgiving. I thought I could bring five kernels of corn that legend says was all some of the Pilgrims had to eat some days during that first winter in Plymouth and use each kernel to make a blessing for our good fortune and for the food we enjoy.

And I thought about the first Thanksgiving in Plymouth in 1621, when after a hard and devastating first year in the New World the Pilgrims’ fall harvest was very successful and plentiful and their Governor, William Bradford, proclaimed a day of thanksgiving that was to be shared by all the colonists and the neighboring Native American Indians.

Or, I could recall how during the American Revolution George Washington and the Continental Congress suggested a day of thanksgiving.

Or I could tell the story of how, in 1817, New York State adopted Thanksgiving Day as an annual custom or how in 1863 President Abraham Lincoln appointed a national day of thanksgiving. But none of this seemed to matter very much.

Writing in his book UH-OH, the one-time Unitarian Universalist minister Robert Fulghum presents an essay on food. In this essay he takes the reader on quite a gastronomical journey through the wonders of raiding the refrigerator, especially late at night. And he offers up a description of the wonders of left-overs…. "Never eat all the meatloaf when it’s fresh. Put about a third of it away in the back of the fridge and forget about it. This is the best part. The part you are going to eat about 2:00 a.m. some dark rainy night when you need sustaining….nothing is better for you. It’s a matter of mental health."

But at the end of the essay he writes, "Meatloaf reminds me of other brands of leftovers. Especially Thanksgiving leftovers. When the refrigerator becomes the Fort Knox of late-night dining. Let’s face it, Thanksgiving is often a strain. You have to dress up and behave and there is all that ritual fuss and bother with too many people and too much food. Exhausting. But two nights later is a different story. There is good news in the fridge by then—solid-gold leftovers.

He goes on to say that the true enjoyment of left-overs is a private affair. "It is a private religious experience. In the holy solitude of the midnight hour, you are taking communion with the spirits of bird, and fruit and field….And it is at times like these you have no doubt that life is good, that your family all tucked away in their beds are royal folks, and that grace abounds."

"Leftovers," Fulghum concludes, "in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart."

I’m sure that like many of you my memories of Thanksgiving when I was growing up are a mixed lot and no doubt many of them are partial or incomplete since I was the youngest of five with a fifteen year span between the youngest and oldest.

I remember that we were early eaters. My mother would get up at 6:00a.m. to put the turkey in the oven so it would be ready by 1;00p.m.

In addition to the turkey we would have green beans that had been grown in my father’s garden. Stuffing and cranberry sauce and perhaps mashed potatoes or sweet potatoes rounded out the offerings.

But we did have one dish that seems to have been quite unique to our Thanksgiving table and I have no idea where the tradition came from.

My mother made macaroni and cheese. Yep, we had mac-n-cheese with our Thanksgiving dinner. Now this wasn’t the macaroni and cheese of school cafeterias. It was really quite elegant. Once the macaroni was cooked it would be put in a shallow baking dish and placed in the oven until the cheese was all melted. I guess you could say it was sort onion-soup style macaroni and cheese…crunchy on top, creamy inside.

I also have memories of my father. He died when I was in high school at the height of my adolescent rebelliousness and so I have never been able to determine whether these are real events or just Ticknor family legends but each Thanksgiving I enjoy retelling these stories to my own family.

I remember him presiding over the table and standing up he would carve the turkey with surgical precision (a skill I have never quite been able to emulate, I’m afraid) asking each person in turn if they preferred white meat or dark and then passing along the plate to my mother who added the other goodies.

One time he asked a guest whether he would like to "walk or fly" his code for asking if the guest if he wanted dark meat or white. The guest politely replied that either would be fine. My father repeated his question and the guest made a similar reply. My father then handed him the empty plate and suggested that when he knew what he wanted he could pass it back.

I remember the time when one of my brothers had invited a significant other to come to Thanksgiving dinner.

Before eating he took drink orders and when he asked my brother’s friend what she would like she replied, "Bourbon and ginger ale, please."

My father stood in silence for a moment and then quietly said, "I have bourbon and I have ginger ale but I am not sure that I can put them in the same glass." I don’t think that relationship made it past the pumpkin pie.

Another time a friend of one of my sisters was with us. For some reason, as I recall, he wouldn’t eat if anyone else at the table was talking and so the meal seemed to go on forever.

Now one of the reasons we ate early was so that we would have much of the afternoon for watching football, raking leaves or just hanging out. Sensing that he was quickly loosing usable daylight hours my father spoke up and said, "I think our business here is done. I move that we adjourn and reconvene for dessert at a later time." The motion to adjourn, being undebatable, carried the day.

And I must confess that my own daughters might complain of the same behavior from their father. I’m sure that there have been times when they and their friends have wondered if I was serious or just joking and I can just imagine some of the things they will recall when they remember Thanksgivings past.

I wonder what memories come to mind when each of you thinks back on your own Thanksgivings from the past. Were they wonderful times with family and friends? Did all the relatives get along?

Was a parent able to stop drinking just long enough to manage to get through dinner? Were the petty arguments and simmering grudges forgotten, if only for the day? What memories do you savor; what memories are keep well hidden? What memories are you creating?

"Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and cupboard of the heart." wrote Fulghum. "These precious things—these leftovers from living—remain to serve as survival rations for the heart and soul. You can’t entirely live off them. But life is not worth living without them."

I said at the beginning that this isn’t the sermon I had intended to give. You see, when I left church last Sunday I left with something of a heavy heart.

From brief conversations and from the words spoken during Joys and Concerns I came away feeling that there is quite a bit of sadness among us. I had heard stories about sickness, and separation; I heard stories of loss, regrets and missed opportunities. And I knew that I couldn’t give the usual Thanksgiving Hallmark Card sermon. If that is what you hoped for, I apologize.

This time of year, as we approach the holidays, can be very difficult. For those of you who have lost a spouse, or parent, a dear friend or family member this may well be the first Thanksgiving without their presence. For those who grieve this Thanksgiving may well be a time when memories will have to suffice to feed the soul.

For others, this Thanksgiving will be remembered as the time when the sad news of another’s illness or loss or private pain was first revealed and it will color our celebrations and our festivities.

It will be a struggle to get from a place of sadness and despair to a place of thanks-giving. This year, it will be hard to go from the realities of our lives to the hyped up world of the arrival of Santa at the end of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

It will be hard to go through the motions of the day when the realities of the day try so hard to intrude. It may be a thanksgiving where the cares of the day are not easily dismissed.

And so let us remember these words written by Kathy Fuson Hurt:

The way through is the way hard. Beset behind and before,

Pass one trial, meet another, leap one hurdle, run against another.

No turning back, no detours, no other way. Lord, how long?

As long as it takes to get me there.

Indeed the only way out from under our burdens is to work our way through them one at a time.

The only way to go from damning the world to giving thanks for the world is through our letting go of what drags us down and taking the time to honor those we love and to take the time to honor ourselves.

By going through the dark night of the soul we will again meet the light of a new day. "Lord, how long?/As long as it takes to get me there/ going down to go up/ no other way./ approaching heaven via hell./ No other way./ The only way out is through."

And so, let this day we call Thanksgiving be a day for memories, for finding hope, for regaining our strength and for thanks-giving.

As we sit around our tables with friends and family, or if we find ourselves alone, let us each speak of those things in our lives that we are most thankful for.

Let us be thankful for what Gordon McKeeman calls the miracles of he common way—for sunrises and sunsets, for seedtime and harvest; for hope and joy; for grace and compassion.

Let us give thanks for all those who grew the food that strengthens us and for all those who had a hand in its preparation. Let us give thanks for all of those who have touched our lives in ways great and small.

Let us remember the generations that have gone before whose memories are nourishment for our soul.

And let us remember not to be in such a hurry that we miss the beauty of the moment—of sun on water and mountain, the movement of clouds and the darkness of the late November night.

Let us be thankful for the bare trees that allow us to see deeper into the forest, and most importantly let us be thankful for each day. For each day of our lives is a gift and a time for Thanks-giving.

I am sure that many here have spoken these words. Give us this day our daily bread. Give us this day that we may be appreciative for all we have; for all we love. Let us remember yesterday and plan for tomorrow, but let us be thankful for today.

Give us this day our daily bread. And all we ask is that it be enough to feed our families and that there be enough for all the peoples of the world that none may go hungry.

Give us this day our daily bread that we may have the strength to make this earth a place of peace.

Give us this day that we may take our time and smile.

Give us this day our daily bread that may we be thankful for the wonder, the beauty, and the goodness that is our lives. We give praise and thanks.

Amen!