Thanksgiving Day
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VII, Cycle C
Object:
Theme For The Day
We are all wanderers, dependent on the providence of God.
Old Testament Lesson
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
A Wandering Aramean Was My Ancestor ...
While the narrative framework of this passage is set in the context of the wilderness wanderings, theologically it reflects the need of a settled people to remember their nomadic roots. The ritual offering of the firstfruits (vv. 1-4) and the accompanying recital of the events of the Exodus salvation history (vv. 5-9) are Israel's way of remembering its roots and avoiding self-satisfied complacency. The act of bringing a firstfruits offering reminds the giver that the earth's abundance comes from the Lord. The applications to the American Thanksgiving holiday are obvious.
New Testament Lesson
Philippians 4:4-9
Perpetual Thanksgiving
In these closing verses of Philippians, Paul leaves his beloved friends with some miscellaneous instructions for living the Christian life. There are two principal parts: an exhortation to constant, heartfelt worship (vv. 4-7) and a general encouragement to think on the higher things (v. 8). Undoubtedly the reason why the lectionary editors chose this passage is the mention of prayers of thanksgiving in verse 6. It is clear that Paul means "prayer and supplication with thanksgiving" to be not an annual ritual, but rather a constant activity. It is this continual approach to God that is the antidote to worry, and the way to "peace ... which surpasses all understanding."
The Gospel
John 6:25-35
Jesus, The Bread Of Life
Early Christian missionaries to Asia sometimes despaired of the presence of so many "rice Christians" -- those people who would show up whenever there was food to be distributed, but who were mysteriously absent at other times. In this passage, Jesus himself wonders about the motivation of some of those who throng around him: "Are you looking for me," he asks, "not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves?" (v. 26). He encourages them to seek spiritual food that does not perish (v. 27). When the people ask for a sign, recalling the ancient sign of the manna in the wilderness, Jesus speaks of "bread that comes down from heaven" (v. 33). He follows this up with the famous saying, "I am the bread of life ..." (v. 35).
Preaching Possibilities
Nearly 400 years ago, 51 men, 22 boys, twenty women, and eleven girls boarded a small sailing ship, called the Mayflower. Their craft -- tiny, by modern standards -- set sail in mid-September from Plymouth harbor long after the optimal time for establishing a colony. They would not arrive on the wilderness shores of Massachusetts until November 21, long after the summer growing season had ended.
The voyage itself brought its share of perils. The seas were rough, and those travelers were not seagoing people. One of them, a young man named John Howland, was actually washed overboard by a huge wave. He managed, somehow, to grab hold of a trailing rope. Somebody pulled him back on board with a boathook.
Young John Howland survived the voyage, but even more than that, he was one of the group of only 55 Pilgrims who survived that first winter: the season of starvation and disease. Such were the hazards that beset those Pilgrims in their wanderings, as they journeyed to the New World. Those Pilgrims were biblically literate people. Surely they would have known this passage, from Deuteronomy -- a passage which described the trials and tribulations of another band of wanderers:
A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm.....
-- Deuteronomy 26:5b-8a
"A wandering Aramean was my ancestor ..." a wandering Pilgrim, on the Mayflower ... a wandering German, or Scot, or Pole, squeezing through the turnstiles at Ellis Island ... a wandering African, dragged to this land in chains. We Americans are a nation of wanderers. Here, in this fine land, we have found a home. Here, we feel thankful for abundant harvests, and for dinner tables fairly groaning with good things to eat. But scratch the surface of our being, and you will reveal ... wanderers.
The same is true of the people of Israel -- and of Christians, who are the new Israel. Scratch the surface of our story, and the lower layer that's revealed is none other than this passage from Deuteronomy. Some call it the oldest confession of faith in the Bible. Surely it was being repeated, by memory, many centuries before it was ever written down.
The author of Deuteronomy was setting down instructions for observing a harvest festival. He decided to embed in his text these timeworn words, words which were already ancient in his day. Probably he had memorized these words at his mother's or father's knee. They comprised his spiritual genealogy.
It was important for the Israelites not to forget their roots as wanderers. Throughout their long history, it seemed the times of greatest spiritual danger were always those times of established settlement: of wealth and prosperity, of confidence and pride in who they were and what they'd achieved. For it was in those comfortable days that the children of Israel were most likely to forget they were also the children of God.
It's not hard to draw parallels between those times and the present. We Americans, too, have a history of wandering. We're a young nation, a nation of refugees. Unless your heritage happens to be Cherokee, or Lakota, or Navaho, you don't have to go back very many generations before you find a wanderer in your family tree. Even then, there was a time -- far more distant in years -- when even those native peoples wandered into this land.
Wanderers are very much aware of the presence of God. When your earthly possessions are pretty much limited to the contents of a sack slung over your shoulder, and when you find yourself outdoors, at the mercy of the elements, you do tend to think of the Almighty -- and often. That was certainly the case for another little band of nautical wayfarers, the passengers and crew on a certain sailing ship that was plying the waters of the Mediterranean.
We know about that voyage because of one famous passenger on our little boat: the Apostle Paul. In Acts, chapter 27, we can read a thrilling account of his voyage, and of his shipwreck on the Isle of Malta.
Paul's a prisoner, that day. He's on his way to Rome to stand trial for preaching the gospel. But even so, Paul's a sort of gentleman prisoner. As a Roman citizen, he probably has the run of the ship.
The sailors, and even the centurion in charge of the military detachment, turn to him for advice when things start to go wrong. As their situation worsens, they listen to him even more carefully. At each stage, Paul's advice seems to pay off. Finally, when the ill-fated ship is breaking up on the rocks, the centurion resolves to save Paul (some of his soldiers had wanted to kill all the prisoners before abandoning ship). All of them float ashore on pieces of wreckage. True to Paul's prediction, every single person on board survives.
They claim there are no atheists in foxholes -- and there are no atheists on sinking ships, either. In wandering mode, it's easy to call upon the Lord, our God. Indeed, is there any other alternative?
If there's any spiritual danger we face in America today, it's the danger that we will forget where we come from. Flush with confidence in our own wealth, power, and ability, we may come to consider all that we have and are as the product of our efforts alone. Who has need to call on God, when you can call on yourself for everything? Who has need for gratitude, when even gratitude is edged out by pride?
Let us never forget what it is like to be wanderers.
Prayer For The Day
Creator God,
worker of wonders,
maker of all:
in your providence we have been kept,
of your bounty we have received,
under the shadow of your wings we have learned to rejoice.
You have led us all our pilgrim journey through:
when we were lost, you found us,
when we were hungry, you fed us,
when we were despairing, you lifted our spirits.
We thank you that you have made us dependent,
but most of all that you are dependable.
Free us, now, of all that distracts us,
so we may praise and thank you with all our hearts.
In the name of Jesus, our Savior. Amen.
To Illustrate
There's an old story of John Witherspoon, one of the New Jersey signers of the Declaration of Independence. He was also President of the College of New Jersey at Princeton, and a Presbyterian minister.
Witherspoon was working one day, in his study. Suddenly his door burst open. A neighbor came in, all out of breath. The neighbor told how he had been riding in his buggy from Rocky Hill to Princeton, when the horse bolted, the buggy was smashed, and he barely escaped with his life. The man asked Witherspoon to pray with him, to thank God for his providential escape from death.
John Witherspoon did pray with the man, but before doing so, he is said to have replied, "I can tell you a far more remarkable providence than that. I have driven over that very same road hundreds of times. My horse never ran away, my buggy never was smashed, I was never hurt."
How easy it is to shake a fist at the heavens and cry out, "Why me?" when things go poorly -- or to exclaim, "Thank God!" after a narrow escape. Yet how rare, and how difficult, it is to give thanks to God when things go well!
We find it easy to cry out "Why me?" when the going gets tough. Yet when we are seated at a bountiful banqueting table, fork poised over a succulent meal, why do we so seldom cry out, "Why me, Lord? Why have you blessed me so extravagantly?"
***
If you could do it, I suppose, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line -- starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King's Highway past appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circle or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I have deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led -- make of that what you will.
-- Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow (New York: Counterpoint, 2000), p. 133
***
Following Jesus isn't about attaining a specific, measurable goal, or grasping a finite, literal truth. Following Jesus is about following. It is about movement. It is about days that haven't happened, people one hasn't met, places one hasn't gone, and forgiveness one hasn't requested -- not yet.
Following Jesus starts wherever it starts but then goes on to the edge and around the corner. Clinging to the "hour I first believed" is never enough. Telling yesterday's story and polishing yesterday's truth are never enough.
Faith is a journey. It takes us beyond memory, beyond understanding, beyond comfort, beyond control. Faith is about a road, not a specific place on the road. Along the way, we will see new things, as Jesus promised, hear new words, reconsider old words. New companions will appear, and they will stretch us. New needs will require us to abandon former ways of perceiving reality.
We will feel tongue-tied, confused, rootless, and unsettled. And that is exactly where Jesus wants us to be. For then we can share Abraham's journey to a land he had never seen, and Moses' journey to a land that existed only as promise, and the exiles' return to a home they couldn't find, and Jesus' journey to a hill outside the city and then beyond their sight.
-- Tom Ehrich, "On a Journey" e-newsletter, June 24, 2004
***
I think we honor God more if we gratefully accept the life that he gives us with all its blessings, loving it and drinking it to the full, and also grieving deeply and sincerely when we have impaired or wasted any of the good things of life....
-- Dietrich Bonhoeffer
***
In Daniel Defoe's famous novel, Robinson Crusoe, the title character -- a wanderer, if ever there was one -- provides a good example of how to cultivate thankfulness, even in a situation of privation. One of the first things this shipwrecked sailor did, after landing on his desert island, was to make a list. On one side of the list he wrote down all his problems. On the other side he wrote down all of his blessings.
On one side he wrote: I do not have any clothes. On the other side he wrote: But it's warm and I don't really need any.
On one side he wrote: All of the provisions were lost. On the other side he wrote: But there's plenty of fresh fruit and water on the island.
On and on down the list he went. In this fashion, he discovered that for every negative aspect of his situation, there was also a positive aspect, something to be thankful for.
We are all wanderers, dependent on the providence of God.
Old Testament Lesson
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
A Wandering Aramean Was My Ancestor ...
While the narrative framework of this passage is set in the context of the wilderness wanderings, theologically it reflects the need of a settled people to remember their nomadic roots. The ritual offering of the firstfruits (vv. 1-4) and the accompanying recital of the events of the Exodus salvation history (vv. 5-9) are Israel's way of remembering its roots and avoiding self-satisfied complacency. The act of bringing a firstfruits offering reminds the giver that the earth's abundance comes from the Lord. The applications to the American Thanksgiving holiday are obvious.
New Testament Lesson
Philippians 4:4-9
Perpetual Thanksgiving
In these closing verses of Philippians, Paul leaves his beloved friends with some miscellaneous instructions for living the Christian life. There are two principal parts: an exhortation to constant, heartfelt worship (vv. 4-7) and a general encouragement to think on the higher things (v. 8). Undoubtedly the reason why the lectionary editors chose this passage is the mention of prayers of thanksgiving in verse 6. It is clear that Paul means "prayer and supplication with thanksgiving" to be not an annual ritual, but rather a constant activity. It is this continual approach to God that is the antidote to worry, and the way to "peace ... which surpasses all understanding."
The Gospel
John 6:25-35
Jesus, The Bread Of Life
Early Christian missionaries to Asia sometimes despaired of the presence of so many "rice Christians" -- those people who would show up whenever there was food to be distributed, but who were mysteriously absent at other times. In this passage, Jesus himself wonders about the motivation of some of those who throng around him: "Are you looking for me," he asks, "not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves?" (v. 26). He encourages them to seek spiritual food that does not perish (v. 27). When the people ask for a sign, recalling the ancient sign of the manna in the wilderness, Jesus speaks of "bread that comes down from heaven" (v. 33). He follows this up with the famous saying, "I am the bread of life ..." (v. 35).
Preaching Possibilities
Nearly 400 years ago, 51 men, 22 boys, twenty women, and eleven girls boarded a small sailing ship, called the Mayflower. Their craft -- tiny, by modern standards -- set sail in mid-September from Plymouth harbor long after the optimal time for establishing a colony. They would not arrive on the wilderness shores of Massachusetts until November 21, long after the summer growing season had ended.
The voyage itself brought its share of perils. The seas were rough, and those travelers were not seagoing people. One of them, a young man named John Howland, was actually washed overboard by a huge wave. He managed, somehow, to grab hold of a trailing rope. Somebody pulled him back on board with a boathook.
Young John Howland survived the voyage, but even more than that, he was one of the group of only 55 Pilgrims who survived that first winter: the season of starvation and disease. Such were the hazards that beset those Pilgrims in their wanderings, as they journeyed to the New World. Those Pilgrims were biblically literate people. Surely they would have known this passage, from Deuteronomy -- a passage which described the trials and tribulations of another band of wanderers:
A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm.....
-- Deuteronomy 26:5b-8a
"A wandering Aramean was my ancestor ..." a wandering Pilgrim, on the Mayflower ... a wandering German, or Scot, or Pole, squeezing through the turnstiles at Ellis Island ... a wandering African, dragged to this land in chains. We Americans are a nation of wanderers. Here, in this fine land, we have found a home. Here, we feel thankful for abundant harvests, and for dinner tables fairly groaning with good things to eat. But scratch the surface of our being, and you will reveal ... wanderers.
The same is true of the people of Israel -- and of Christians, who are the new Israel. Scratch the surface of our story, and the lower layer that's revealed is none other than this passage from Deuteronomy. Some call it the oldest confession of faith in the Bible. Surely it was being repeated, by memory, many centuries before it was ever written down.
The author of Deuteronomy was setting down instructions for observing a harvest festival. He decided to embed in his text these timeworn words, words which were already ancient in his day. Probably he had memorized these words at his mother's or father's knee. They comprised his spiritual genealogy.
It was important for the Israelites not to forget their roots as wanderers. Throughout their long history, it seemed the times of greatest spiritual danger were always those times of established settlement: of wealth and prosperity, of confidence and pride in who they were and what they'd achieved. For it was in those comfortable days that the children of Israel were most likely to forget they were also the children of God.
It's not hard to draw parallels between those times and the present. We Americans, too, have a history of wandering. We're a young nation, a nation of refugees. Unless your heritage happens to be Cherokee, or Lakota, or Navaho, you don't have to go back very many generations before you find a wanderer in your family tree. Even then, there was a time -- far more distant in years -- when even those native peoples wandered into this land.
Wanderers are very much aware of the presence of God. When your earthly possessions are pretty much limited to the contents of a sack slung over your shoulder, and when you find yourself outdoors, at the mercy of the elements, you do tend to think of the Almighty -- and often. That was certainly the case for another little band of nautical wayfarers, the passengers and crew on a certain sailing ship that was plying the waters of the Mediterranean.
We know about that voyage because of one famous passenger on our little boat: the Apostle Paul. In Acts, chapter 27, we can read a thrilling account of his voyage, and of his shipwreck on the Isle of Malta.
Paul's a prisoner, that day. He's on his way to Rome to stand trial for preaching the gospel. But even so, Paul's a sort of gentleman prisoner. As a Roman citizen, he probably has the run of the ship.
The sailors, and even the centurion in charge of the military detachment, turn to him for advice when things start to go wrong. As their situation worsens, they listen to him even more carefully. At each stage, Paul's advice seems to pay off. Finally, when the ill-fated ship is breaking up on the rocks, the centurion resolves to save Paul (some of his soldiers had wanted to kill all the prisoners before abandoning ship). All of them float ashore on pieces of wreckage. True to Paul's prediction, every single person on board survives.
They claim there are no atheists in foxholes -- and there are no atheists on sinking ships, either. In wandering mode, it's easy to call upon the Lord, our God. Indeed, is there any other alternative?
If there's any spiritual danger we face in America today, it's the danger that we will forget where we come from. Flush with confidence in our own wealth, power, and ability, we may come to consider all that we have and are as the product of our efforts alone. Who has need to call on God, when you can call on yourself for everything? Who has need for gratitude, when even gratitude is edged out by pride?
Let us never forget what it is like to be wanderers.
Prayer For The Day
Creator God,
worker of wonders,
maker of all:
in your providence we have been kept,
of your bounty we have received,
under the shadow of your wings we have learned to rejoice.
You have led us all our pilgrim journey through:
when we were lost, you found us,
when we were hungry, you fed us,
when we were despairing, you lifted our spirits.
We thank you that you have made us dependent,
but most of all that you are dependable.
Free us, now, of all that distracts us,
so we may praise and thank you with all our hearts.
In the name of Jesus, our Savior. Amen.
To Illustrate
There's an old story of John Witherspoon, one of the New Jersey signers of the Declaration of Independence. He was also President of the College of New Jersey at Princeton, and a Presbyterian minister.
Witherspoon was working one day, in his study. Suddenly his door burst open. A neighbor came in, all out of breath. The neighbor told how he had been riding in his buggy from Rocky Hill to Princeton, when the horse bolted, the buggy was smashed, and he barely escaped with his life. The man asked Witherspoon to pray with him, to thank God for his providential escape from death.
John Witherspoon did pray with the man, but before doing so, he is said to have replied, "I can tell you a far more remarkable providence than that. I have driven over that very same road hundreds of times. My horse never ran away, my buggy never was smashed, I was never hurt."
How easy it is to shake a fist at the heavens and cry out, "Why me?" when things go poorly -- or to exclaim, "Thank God!" after a narrow escape. Yet how rare, and how difficult, it is to give thanks to God when things go well!
We find it easy to cry out "Why me?" when the going gets tough. Yet when we are seated at a bountiful banqueting table, fork poised over a succulent meal, why do we so seldom cry out, "Why me, Lord? Why have you blessed me so extravagantly?"
***
If you could do it, I suppose, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line -- starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King's Highway past appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circle or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I have deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led -- make of that what you will.
-- Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow (New York: Counterpoint, 2000), p. 133
***
Following Jesus isn't about attaining a specific, measurable goal, or grasping a finite, literal truth. Following Jesus is about following. It is about movement. It is about days that haven't happened, people one hasn't met, places one hasn't gone, and forgiveness one hasn't requested -- not yet.
Following Jesus starts wherever it starts but then goes on to the edge and around the corner. Clinging to the "hour I first believed" is never enough. Telling yesterday's story and polishing yesterday's truth are never enough.
Faith is a journey. It takes us beyond memory, beyond understanding, beyond comfort, beyond control. Faith is about a road, not a specific place on the road. Along the way, we will see new things, as Jesus promised, hear new words, reconsider old words. New companions will appear, and they will stretch us. New needs will require us to abandon former ways of perceiving reality.
We will feel tongue-tied, confused, rootless, and unsettled. And that is exactly where Jesus wants us to be. For then we can share Abraham's journey to a land he had never seen, and Moses' journey to a land that existed only as promise, and the exiles' return to a home they couldn't find, and Jesus' journey to a hill outside the city and then beyond their sight.
-- Tom Ehrich, "On a Journey" e-newsletter, June 24, 2004
***
I think we honor God more if we gratefully accept the life that he gives us with all its blessings, loving it and drinking it to the full, and also grieving deeply and sincerely when we have impaired or wasted any of the good things of life....
-- Dietrich Bonhoeffer
***
In Daniel Defoe's famous novel, Robinson Crusoe, the title character -- a wanderer, if ever there was one -- provides a good example of how to cultivate thankfulness, even in a situation of privation. One of the first things this shipwrecked sailor did, after landing on his desert island, was to make a list. On one side of the list he wrote down all his problems. On the other side he wrote down all of his blessings.
On one side he wrote: I do not have any clothes. On the other side he wrote: But it's warm and I don't really need any.
On one side he wrote: All of the provisions were lost. On the other side he wrote: But there's plenty of fresh fruit and water on the island.
On and on down the list he went. In this fashion, he discovered that for every negative aspect of his situation, there was also a positive aspect, something to be thankful for.
