by David Cassidy, Christ Community Church,Franklin
Gathered around a table for feasting every year, the American people pause to at least give lip service to the notion of thankfulness. People of Faith understand this to be a necessary and joyful obligation, acknowledging the blessings of the Almighty in their lives and land. People of little to no faith may not turn their eyes to heaven, but they will nonetheless look around to those they love and the nation they call home, and acknowledge the gift these have become in their lives.
For some, however, whether possessing faith or not, it’s no easy task. For some this year the death of a loved one, a battle with disease, an addicted child, the loss of a job, or the breakup of a marriage casts a shadow over the day. Can we give thanks when inexplicable sorrows assail us? History offers some counsel.
In 1608 an English trading ship anchored off the coast of New England, purporting to do business with the native Americans nearby. Their true ‘business’ quickly became cruelly clear: they kidnapped many of their hosts, members of the Patuxet tribe, selling them into slavery. One of these sad victims found himself ‘on the block’ in Spain, only to be purchased into liberty by Catholic friars – they’d set themselves to literally ‘redeem’ as many as they could. They gave him their faith and his freedom. Eventually he made his way to England where he lived briefly in London, learning the language before returning to his homeland by serving as an interpreter on a trading ship. He’d been away for ten years. His name was Squanto, and what he found on his homecoming was devastating.
Far from a joyous reunion with his tribe, Squanto discovered that his people had been ravaged and destroyed by disease. No one was left. Had he not been taken, he too would’ve perished, but that was small consolation in his despair. He lived for a while with the Wampanoag tribe, but eventually settled in the woods to live alone.
In the Spring of 1621 Squanto emerged from the woods to greet English people he’d warily watched through the winter of 1620-1621 – it was the same savage winter that decimated the Pilgrims who’d landed that previous year, hoping to discover their own freedom in a new world. Death and diseases had visited them too, half of their number perishing. Had hope died too?
The Plymouth Pilgrim survivors were astonished that Spring to suddenly be greeted by a Native American who not only knew their language but who had been living in London more recently than any of them. Because they’d settled on the same land on which Squanto grew up he could teach them about every square inch of its terrain, the proper fertilization of the soil, fishing practices, and serve as an interpreter and ambassador with other nearby tribes. The Plymouth settlement quite literally owed its survival to this man of sorrows, redeemed from death and slavery, who became their friend and savior. Because of all Squanto endured, the Pilgrims survived, and sat down long ago to that legendary first Thanksgiving.
When we go through terrible sorrows it’s impossible to know why we do so, but it is not impossible to know that in the end even these will somehow become part of the tapestry of grace. Our terrors and tears are temporary. We are all the sons and daughters of Protestant Pilgrim Faith, Catholic freedom fighters, and Native American courage and love. We are the children of Providence. We are people who know that in the end, despite whatever trials may come, God will make all things new. This is why today we can gather at a table and look up, look around, and ‘in everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you’ (1 Thessalonians 5). Happy Thanksgiving!
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