As surely as Mr. Scrooge is due to be revisited soon by the Christmas ghosts, there is a modern Thanksgiving parable which haunts me each year at this time. I'll recount the Parable below, & you can find out more about the Search at the end (and see how you may be part of resolving a mystery).
"Behold the preacher mounted his pulpit and to him 100 faces looked up. They were just as all the sons and daughters of the Earth - Billions of faces captured in those 100. And the preacher placed a lozenge on his tongue so that his voice became both sweet and oily, and smiling the smile of those who see but do not understand, he said, 'Let us give thanks.' And 100 voices murmured, 'Amen', but without much conviction.
'Let us give thanks', said the preacher, 'for the wholeness of our bodies; for legs that walk and run, for ears that hear the song of the bird, for eyes that see beauty in flower, fruit, earth, and sky, for arms that envelop and hands that hold.' And sadly, without a word, there arose from the congregation those who were blind or paralyzed, and some who had lost limbs, and they led out the deaf with them, & 10 people made their way out of the church.
But the preacher continued, and said, 'Let us give thanks for health itself; for lungs breathing in soft air, for enjoyment of food and drink, for the firm tone of a skin that radiates soundness.' And others rose and departed - some with damaged lungs, and others with dread diseases of the skin or blood. Some who were fighting cancer - and others who no longer could even receive solid food, and who received pain with the food they could get - and behold, 10 more had left the congregation.
Still, the preacher continued in his rhapsody, and said, 'Let us give thanks for our earthly benefits, for the comforts that this world has to give, and for the prosperity we have received.' And at this word there departed the poor, who had watched their children die of malnutrition, and their parents die from cold and want, and 10 more were gone.
But the preacher's eyes were raised in contemplation of comfortable thoughts, and he saw none of this, and so he continued, 'Let us give thanks for home and hearth, for the families in which we dwell.' Then there departed from the congregation some who were refugees, and teenagers who no longer felt any welcome in their homes, and some from rest homes and even cities who lived alone amongst many - in all, 10 more had gone.
And still the preacher persisted, saying, 'Let us give thanks for our friends.' Then those whom society had forgotten, who lived in the corners of life, or who were painfully shy, & some who lived hard-working but isolated and almost invisible lives, got up to go. With them went others, who were considered odd, or of the wrong race or background, and 10 more slipped quietly away.
Still, the preacher was drawing from his lozenge comfort and smoothness of speech, and so he continued, 'We give thanks for the beauty of our lives. Oh surely no exceeding beauty, for we are after all humble folks, but for that which makes us graceful, gracious, and good to be with.' Then George, who felt he didn't have a strong chin, and Sally, whose eyes didn't seem just right, and Frank, who was losing his hair, and Louise, who knew that she didn't resemble the women on TV, they all arose, & 6 more besides, and departed their places.
And still the preacher carried on: 'We give thanks for the gift of intellect, through which we receive the blessings of art & science, literature & history, and with which we can probe the mysteries of the universe.' Then several people of average intelligence blushed, and as they left they were joined by others who faced challenges of mental ability or illness, and 10 of them walked to the door.
And without a downward glance, the preacher fairly sang as he called forth thanks for '... virtues - that make the path of life pleasant, as if bedecked by flowers.' Then those who were tortured by bad tempers, or wracked by jealousy, or who felt the stab of envy, or whose lives were made miserable by more private vices, all arose - and those 10 were no longer any part of that congregation.
And as the preacher went on (and on), he said, 'We give thanks for justice.' And at that a Jew from Cairo, and a Palestinian from Israel, and a child in desperate need who was not served by the system of justice, and others deprived of recourse to law, or medicine, or education - 10 in number, all left.
Then, finally, the preacher came to the end of his Thanksgiving litany, and prayed simply, 'Let us give thanks for peace.' And the final 10, victims of wars in distant lands and battles as close as home, casualties of new wars and ancient conflicts alike, rose and left.
When the preacher at last looked out on the congregation, behold, no one was there. Then he cried out a real prayer, 'O Lord, where have they gone?' And a still, small, voice spoke from Heaven in answer, 'Because you have exalted what I have not promised, and since the human heart knows well the taste of bitterness, they have departed from your congregation.
When have I promised you wholeness of body, or health, or earthly comfort? When have I promised you unbroken bonds with family or friends? When did I promise you continued possession of any gift: beauty, intelligence, or virtue? When have I ever told you that in this world you will always know justice or peace?
Remember my servant Job.
Remember my Son, Jesus.'
And the preacher cried out again, 'Then Lord, what WILL you give us?' And the Voice replied, 'Myself.'
Then the preacher ran to the doorway of the church, and in the shadows of the great pillars and lofty spires, he saw the 100. Their eyes were cast down - those eyes in whom could be seen all the billions on the Earth. And he took his box of lozenges with all their comfort and hurled them into the outer darkness (which was a good place for them), and then he cried out to the people, 'O my friends, I have deceived you. We MAY have friends, we MAY have justice, but all we are sure of is God. In olden days Job said - Though he slay me, yet will I trust him - and in his dying, Jesus said - Into thy hands I commend my spirit - For this is all that is sure: God gives to us himself. And that is all that matters.'
And a blind woman wept. And a friendless man grasped the hand of a neighbor. And many who had been denied justice knew that their struggles were not in vain. And they all came back inside.
Then the preacher mounted the pulpit again (for that is the nature of preachers), and 100 faces, the faces of all the world, looked up. And he said, 'Let us give thanks that God himself is with us.' And 100 voices thundered back, 'Amen.'"
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NOTE FROM THE LEAVING NADDERBY BLOG: I first heard this 30 years ago where it was used as a portion of a sermon by Rev. Robert Lovell, one of the finest preachers ever produced by the West Ohio Conference of the United Methodist Church. Years later, at my request, he sent me a copy of his notes, where I learned that the author (of the Parable cited in the sermon) was someone named Richard Hunter - HERE'S WHERE THE MYSTERY, AND THE SEARCH, COMES IN - I have not been able to further identify Richard Hunter, or the original form of the Parable. I would be indebted to anyone whose Searching Skills exceed my own, who could shed light on the origins of this piece.
Meanwhile, although I know that some of the language is dated, I hope that those who hear/see this version will be (as I am) pulled away from the God of man's invention, who tends to reside in a land of comfortable blessings, and towards the presence of the God who is with us through bane as well as blessing - the God who may greet us when we are in our Sunday best, but who will also be standing with us when everything else seems dark.
Have a blessed Thanksgiving.
