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“Even if…Still”
A small boy returned from a birthday party and his mother asked him if he remembered to thank the lady for the party. “Well, I was going to. But the girl ahead of me said thank you and the lady told her not to mention it. So I didn’t.” We don’t always mention it, either, and it is especially hard for us to be thankful when things aren’t going well. There’s a cartoon of Ziggy looking at a poster which reads, “If you always look down, you’ll miss the sunshine.” Ziggy adds, “Yes, but you won’t fall into any big holes, either.” Giving thanks does not always come easy because we are so aware of the reality of life: liberation is not here, yet; violence is still popular, lovers do leave, the stock market is in dreadful shape and life has a lot of big holes waiting for us to fall into. Thankfulness is not always where our hearts are. So the words from the Hebrew prophet Habakkuk are startling: It takes a long time for most of us to learn that kind of thankfulness, to learn that gratitude does not depend on circumstances. Jewish tradition celebrates Sukkot, or the Feast of Booths, each fall, building small booths in their yards or apartment balconies or synagogue lawns and gathering there for meals. One rabbi writes that Sukkot is a celebration of the gifts that don’t last: the ripe fruits that will spoil if not eaten right away, the loved ones who may not be with us as long as we wish, the beauty of leaves as they begin the process of dying. Sukkot tells us that the world is full of beautiful things to treasure and to share, but we will have to enjoy them right away because they will not last. We give thanks, we celebrate, not despite the fact that life does not go on forever, but precisely because of that fact. Days cannot be hoarded, nor people either. Joys cannot be stored up but only experienced now. Life is vulnerable, and we will not hang unto the good things by clutching or grabbing at them or by running faster after them, but only by taking them as they come, precious moment by precious moment. Neither the nightly news nor grief nor disease nor worries nor tensions nor big holes can steal from us what we refuse to give up: our right to experience life as a precious, cherished gift. In one of Charlie Chaplin’s earliest comedies, “The Tramp”, a tramp is walking down the dirt road jobless, friendless, homeless. He encounters a woman being robbed, and by trickery and luck, he helps her. She is grateful and takes him home. A romance develops, and it seems the tramp’s life is going to be great. Then a previous boyfriend shows up, and the woman forgets the tramp, who soon finds himself on the dirt road again, jobless, friendless and homeless. But then in the final scene, the film switches from a tragedy of dashed hopes into a celebration of the human spirit. Suddenly, the tramp dusts himself off, stands tall, kicks up his heels, and shakes off his despair. He puts a kick into his step and walks briskly on his way. He refuses to let the disappointments of life have the victory. It is the classic comic triumph. The tramp is determined, like the apostle Paul, in whatever state he finds himself, to be content. Thanksgiving is not a celebration of our riches (Thank you, God, that I have all these nice things and help all the poor dudes who don’t.) It is not about gluttony, nor about guilt. It is a celebration of the preciousness of the present moment: the loved ones present to us now, the flower which lasts only a few days, the laughter of the moment. Neither poverty nor disease nor oppression can take from us what we refuse to give up: our right to see life as a precious, cherished gift from God. Gratitude does not depend on circumstances. Even if my olive tree dies, even if my fig tree does not blossom, even if my pension is only worth half what it was and my back aches and the weather is awful, I will still give thanks to God.
©2008 Janice Jean Springer
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