Not to be too sensationalist, but when the sky is falling, what does gratitude look like? To my ears, the language of “gratitude” can sound rather cheap under the circumstances — like “count your many blessings, name them one by one” when the house is on fire.
This year, we have experienced waves of loss and grief, large and small. Many are grieving the loss of life, loss of employment, loss of dreams, loss of beloved rhythms, loss of stability, loss of physical presence — among so many other losses. Each loss has layers of meaning and significance that we carry with us in our bodies.
We have also begun to experience, in some cases, loss of illusions. This, I think, may be something to be grateful for this year. Much has been unearthed that was there all along. The reality of racism in all its forms has been laid bare yet again, and the diverse reactions that have followed have only served to underscore this. The reality of rapidly changing economic landscapes has left many wondering when or if they will return to work; for many, working from home has not been an option.
I am not grateful for what has caused these realities to be unearthed, but I am grateful the illusions that were reinforced by perceived normalcy have been exposed. There are narratives about what our normalcy has involved in the past that need to be rewritten. New narratives need to be crafted for what normalcy will entail in the future, both for the church and the society.
I am grateful for the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) issuing the call to become a Matthew 25 denomination made up of Matthew 25 congregations. We need a vision that helps us address the pressing questions of the day with passion and clarity.
I am grateful for a congregation that has met the moment by supporting one another and engaging the community in what has been a tremendously unsettling season of life.
I am grateful for a co-conspirator of 11 years who meets each day with steady rhythms of tenderness and humor, and for a son who rises each day with his characteristic, unabashed, unhidden grin that is for me a tenacious gift without any boundary.
I am grateful for the chilly breeze and even the humidity in the mornings as I run mountain trails, and I am grateful for the ability to experience the mornings with all my senses.
I am grateful for all that I notice – and fail to notice – that has been given to me as a sheer gift. I suppose, theologically, I would say that I feel I have been inordinately lucky. Or, in the words of an ancient psalm, I have experienced “the precious oil on the head, running down upon the beard” (no need to read that with a straight face, by the way).
While there are many deep wounds within our hearts, churches and societies, I am grateful for ancient wisdom passed down through the ages that serves as a balm to relieve and, perhaps even, to heal our wounds.
