In the midst of plague and a broken society and world, we join with others of the same situation and give thanks to God on this day.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Day of Thanksgiving, year A
Texts: Deuteronomy 8:7-18; Luke 17:11-19

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Remember to give thanks to God when you prosper, Moses says.

As the Israelites prepare to enter the land promised to them by God, where they will flourish, they are warned not to exalt themselves when they thrive there. They mustn’t forget that the God of their ancestors took them out of slavery and led them through the “terrible” wilderness to this good place.

When Jesus heals ten people afflicted with leprosy, perhaps they did what Moses warns against. Nine, in their joy, or eagerness to be with family again, or for any reason, forgot to thank the One who just miraculously cured them.

In prosperity and abundance, in relief at healing, in hope for the future, in security and peace, it’s possible to forget to thank God. These readings urge us: don’t forget to be thankful when all is well and good.

They don’t seem to fit this year.

How would today’s Gospel sound if Jesus weren’t there to heal?

If the ten lepers simply had a normal day of sitting by the roadside, shouting “unclean,” hoping someone might toss them a coin, would anyone ask, “Why didn’t all of these give thanks?”

For us, over a quarter of a million people have died to pandemic in this country, a contagion at least as serious as leprosy was. There are many more empty places at thousands of tables this Thanksgiving Day than usual. And additional empty places where loved ones separated from us for safety would usually sit. Some haven’t seen loved ones for eight months. So many, even just in our congregation, are isolated and alone. Shall we be chastised for struggling to be thankful?

How would Deuteronomy sound if the people were told that once more at the gate of the Promised Land they would be punished again with another 40 years in the wilderness? Would they then need warning about getting so fat and comfortable they might forget to thank God?

For us, far from feeling prosperous and secure in our nation, we’re in the midst of a presidential transition the Founders never envisioned. What if the one who loses refuses to step aside? And will the administration do any governing now until Inauguration Day, do anything to stem the tide of COVID? The great social issues that challenge our society boil over every day, different ones at different times, all demanding our attention. Do we need warning of being too self-confident, proud of our secure, safe, nation, as if we made it so?

Demanding thankfulness in the midst of suffering or disease or civil unrest feels abusive, lacking compassion and sensitivity.

And it doesn’t work. No one becomes thankful – to God or to others – because someone chided them, or guilted them. True thankfulness rises up in the heart on its own when someone feels gratitude, becomes aware of blessings, recognizes graces that have been received.

So there are no lectures to you to be thankful this Thanksgiving. Not if you, like so many, are struggling to find a thankful heart, reasons to be grateful.

But today is Thanksgiving Day nonetheless. Perhaps, rather than a lecture, we could witness someone who knew as well as we do that life is not always disease-free and lived in the abundant milk and honey and peace of the Promised Land.

In 1637, Europe was in the middle of a war that raged for 30 years.

Fought between Christian nobility over the issues of the Reformation, the peasants, the ordinary folk, paid dearly for it in blood. Christian war brought massive suffering and death. In the midst of this war, recurrences of the plague spread throughout Europe.

In Eilenburg, Saxony, Pastor Martin Rinkhart had served since the war’s beginning. Many refugees fled to this walled city, bringing with them overcrowding, starvation, and disease. Armies overran the city. The Rinkharts, not wealthy, housed many refugees over the years. And in 1637, the plague came to Eilenburg.

The contagion spread fear and panic, and eight thousand died in the city in two years. In 1637, Rinkhart was the only surviving pastor in the city, and held more than 4,500 funerals that year, including his wife’s.

Pandemic, death, and fear of disease. Civil strife and fighting between Christians. The feared collapse of societal institutions. That sounds familiar.

And in the middle of those times, Martin Rinkhart wrote a hymn.

He doesn’t stand in privilege and unconcern and rebuke us for our struggle to find gratitude in these days. No, he invites us to join him, and the survivors of Eilenburg, to sing in the midst of disease and social strife: “Now thank we all our God with hearts and hands and voices, Who wondrous things has done, in Whom this world rejoices; Who, from our mothers’ arms, has blessed us on our way with countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.”

Might we recognize a kindred spirit here, and join this song? Remaining open-eyed to civil crisis and the uncertainty of our times, to a global pandemic that burns hotly, could we join this brother, and the millions who have sung this with him these past four hundred years?

It’s actually easy to forget to give thanks in both good times and bad.

Perhaps, singing this, we might find gratitude in our times, too. Gratitude for the beautiful creation, and a sunny, frosty November morning. Gratitude for the gift of people who love you – even if you must be at home alone, or  you can’t see them, they still love you and pray for you and hold you in God’s care. Gratitude for the joy in the midst of grief that those who have died are in the arms of God in life that does not end. Gratitude for food and drink abundant enough to share. Gratitude for signs of hope that healing of our society and nation might be coming. Even gratitude for signs that a lessening and finally an ending of this plague might be ahead, even if it’s still months.

You may perhaps, if you sing with Martin, find many more things to give thanks for welling up in your heart and your voice. But most of all, you’ll remember that nothing can separate you from God’s love in Christ Jesus. Not this life, not death. You are beloved and precious. As are all.

“Now thank we all our God with hearts and hands and voices,

Who wondrous things has done, in Whom this world rejoices; Who, from our mothers’ arms, has blessed us on our way with countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.”

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

When we focus our hearts on Christ, we serve each other daily and bring forth the reign of Christ—and we do it together.

Vicar Andrea Bonneville
Reign of Christ, Lectionary 34 A 
Texts: Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24; Matthew 25:31-46; Ephesians 1:15-23

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Have we done enough?

This is the question that many of us might ask after we read this parable from Matthew’s Gospel.

But what if this is the wrong question for us to ask today.

If this parable is meant to warn us of divisive judgment, shame and guilt us for what we did not do, or create an us vs. them mentality about who did enough and who didn’t do enough, I don’t want anything to do with it.

If we turn our focus towards debating what is enough in the eyes of Christ, we begin walking down a very unstable path filled with judgement, fear, and hypocrisy.

Asking the question, “have we done enough?”  is not a question that comes from Christ. It is a question rooted in the oppressive “pull yourself up from your boot straps” language that we know too well.

When Christ gathers the nations together, Christ isn’t asking us to bring our laundry list of good works to prove that we have done enough. Christ is gathering us together to remind us where the Triune God will be found.

This year has been a hard year. There is no way around that. We are tired and weary. We have found ourselves dropping to our knees and asking, “God, are you with us or not?”

This is the question we ask God today and the question we have been asking God for months.

Today and every day, we celebrate the reign of Christ as we proclaim that the Triune God is leading us and working through us. That the reign of Christ is more powerful than any human institution that we have created. That everything that divides us becomes secondary to the fact that we are all God’s beloved children and redeemed by the one who lived and served among us. God, who in the form of Christ died on the cross and was resurrected into eternal life so that we may hope in a future of reconciliation. And hope that the reign of Christ will break into our midst so we can be the community that God calls us to be. 

A community that keeps watch and stays awake for the reign of Christ. A community that uses the gift that we have been given through Christ to serve our neighbor.

There were times in this past year that we saw a deeper need and could only extend our hand so far. Times we wanted to gather as a community, to join our voices in song and protest. Times we questioned if bridging the divide and building a beloved community is even possible. 

Out of our exhaustion, it can feel like we don’t know what our part is or what we should do next. We find ourself wondering with the first followers of Jesus:

Christ, when did we see you hungry? When did we see you thirsty? When did we see you see you as a stranger? Or naked? Or sick? Or in prison? And when did we provide for you?

To our surprise, we hear Christ saying to us, truly I tell you…

…just as you fed people in the parking lot and provided the essentials for a dignified life, you did it to me.

…just as you physically distanced and moved your worship into your homes to protect your neighbors, you did it to me.

…just as you provided financial assistance for rent and utilities and provided one man within one day all that he needed to transition into his home, you did it to me.

…just as you called to check in on a friend, brighten another person’s day with your kindness and compassion, you did it to me.

…just as you began the journey to become anti-racist and acted to learn how to remake a world in which all God’s beloved children can breathe safely and freely, you did it to me.

…just as you lamented and wept because of injustice and illness, oppression and suffering, you did it with me.

…just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.  And you did it with me.

When we remember our Creator has entrusted us to care for the whole creation, everything we do is in service to Christ. When we root our bodies in the love of Jesus, everything we do is in service to Christ. When our hearts are filled with the fire of Spirit, everything we do is in service to Christ. And when we live into the truth that all God’s children are created in the image of the Triune God, everything we do is in service to Christ.

God is telling us that when our hearts break open from seeing the injustice and oppression that surrounds us, that is exactly where God will be. Because God has been with us and guiding us along our entire journey.  

God, through the prophet Ezekiel, tells us that God will take the lead. God says: 

I myself will search for you. I will seek you. I will rescue you, bring you together, feed you, and provide you rest.

I myself will be the shepherd. I will seek the lost, bring back the strayed, heal the injured and strengthen the weak.

I myself will gather you, I will find you again and again, and I will keep you.

The message in today’s parable of Christ showing up at the margins of society is not new for us. We know where to find Christ, we know that Christ is going to show up in unexpected places and at unexpected times.

Today marks the end of the church calendar, a bookmark of our year together while apart. Tomorrow, we enter into this new year, where we open up scriptures again and we hear the story of the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Christ. We see it with new eyes and hear it with new hears because in the past year we have been transformed.

Transformed to value community in new ways, to live with great resiliency, to confront our world views, and to love without measure.

We have been transformed despite being apart. We are missing each other deeply and we need to encourage each other to keep looking for oil to keep our lamps burning.

We still need to be apart for now, but even in our separation we are together.

Together through our action, our words, and our prayers. Through the way we loved each other, the way we loved God, the way we served.

Together, side by side while still six feet apart, we bring forth Christ’s reign. And we get to do that again tomorrow, and again the next day, and the day after that.

Christ’s reign is happening around us all the time.  It is happening when we vote and advocate, when we collect our resources and see that glimmer of abundance, when we offer our hand to work alongside our neighbor, when we house the unhoused, when our faith is embodied in our lives. We do it together. Again and again.

Before we grow weary again and turn back to the age-old question asking God, “are you with us or not,” we must not forget that our work now becomes to listen. Because in the next few weeks, we are going to hear about how Christ breaks into our world as an infant and promises to turn the world around. 

There is always going to be work to do, but for today I echo Paul’s words to the Ephesians:

I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, and for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers.

Amen.