In light of the relentless parade of daily headlines, this passing year has been one of disappointment, regret, revelation, righteous indignation and painful moments of truth. And yet, here comes Thanksgiving again, making seemingly impossible demands on us this time around.
At least, unlike last year, this time there isn’t the same sense that there are winners and losers to cause friction at our family gatherings. This year, it feels like we’re all in the boiling pot together, and while it is a very small victory—as these things go—most of us have been sufficiently awakened by the news to have recognized that the water we’re treading in is salted with our own tears.
For many of us this season of thanks feels more like a season for reckoning. What am I now seeing about the nature of humanity—and the world—that I had so long denied? What echoes of the darkness I see “out there” can be found lurking in the shadows of my own shortcomings? To what degree have I fallen short of my own expectations for myself? In order to respond effectively, we must first acknowledge that we have been wounded. Only then can there be healing.
The process of recovery can be painful. Ugly. Even repulsive. And this is exactly how healing—if genuine– tends to look. But even so, it feels deeply unfair that this is what our generation of elders, let alone all those for whom we care, are faced with this Thanksgiving, I trust we will endure. I even believe, against all appearances, that goodness will prevail. But does it really have to be this hard?
So, Thanksgiving, 2017. A painful time for our country and for ourselves, but I have learned something after all these years about life. For the sight of just one white crane dipping and soaring above the river that flows past our house—one beam of sun warming my hand—one glimpse into my grandsons’ eyes as the turkey arrives at the table–can go a long way towards tempering the losses suffered along the way. And one righteous act, one touch of kindness, one courageous response when one has been called moves all of us apace in the direction of redemption.
How ironic that the things we regret most can become catalysts for what we most value: appreciation of life, capacity for compassion, the truth of a heart broken open and the courage to act on one’s convictions. But suffering losses is no guarantee. We are just as likely to become rigid and bitter should we refuse the invitation hardship issues to us to break open rather than shore up. That said, some degree of suffering is at the very least a prerequisite for transformation. And since suffering come to us all, we are all candidates.
So, this year, those of us who feel bad, sad or angry have something to be grateful for. We can give thanks to be grieving at last—age-appropriate, timely and well-earned. Is this the final gate though which we must pass to find wisdom? And what is this that we find, on the final stretch of our journey?
I know us. We will somehow yet manage to wrest our full portion of whatever grace we happen to stumble across along the way. Life is incomprehensible, indeed. We have the right to wail. But still, I will celebrate Thanksgiving by offering thanks. Hard-won, indeed, but just as real as all the rest.
Happy Thanksgiving, fierce friends. I’ll be sending you my gratitude on Thanksgiving, as I do every day.
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