Thanksgiving

It looks like God blesses some more than others.
Some rarely see a doctor or a psychiatrist.
Some enjoy a happy marriage and family, achieve professional distinctions, have many stimulating friends, and lead an exciting and rewarding life.
Others are seldom without pain, want but never find a suitable marriage partner, never graduate from that mundane job, rarely enjoy the attention and company of others.

Yet those more blessed are not necessarily more grateful.
In fact, it may be more difficult for the highly favored to experience true gratitude.
For gratitude is not the invariable consequence of health, happiness, and prosperity.
Genuine gratitude is, rather, a condition of the heart.

I remember a short film I’ve seen several times, a poignant documentary that gives us a glimpse in the life of Leo Beuermann, a twisted dwarf of a man.
At first glance Leo strikes one as grotesque in his deformity, plagued by so many physical disabilities that one is likely to think of him as both helpless and hopeless.
But he was neither.
He lived each day with courage, dignity, and faith.
Though his afflictions were many and severe, he lived out of a grateful hearty that was constantly tuned to the mercy of God.

Gratitude is more than a prayer of thanks on Thanksgiving Day, or any other day.
It is essentially a way of living, a life style impelled by the heart’s response to the constancy of God’s goodness and grace.

We need to pray for such a heart, as did George Herbert centuries ago:

Thou that hast given so much to me,
Give one thing more—a grateful heart;
Not thankful when it pleaseth me,
As if thy blessings had spare days;
But such a heart, whose pulse may be
Thy praise.

from "Talking with God"

I Believe

I believe.

But why?
Because I was baptized, raised in a Christian home, educated in Christian schools, studied the catechism, was active in church youth groups, and included prayer and Bible reading in my formative years?

Perhaps.

But life’s journey is often rough.
The fabric of faith gets torn.
It can unravel.
More than once it nearly did.

Yet I believe.
For there is beauty beyond description of tongue or pen.
And there is evil no human power can overcome.
And there were Dante and Milton and Shakespeare.
And Bach and Mozart and Handel.
And Mother Theresa and Smedes and Yancey.

Yes, I believe.
For there was a cloud of witnesses in the place I worked.
And a great company of saints in the church I worshipped.

But most of all, I believe, because one starlit night,
a Baby was born, pure and perfect, whose name was Jesus.
It’s the power and glory of his Life, and Death, that changes mine.
It’s the Truth of his words I wish to live by.
It’s his Way that leads through the valley to God that I must walk.

This I believe.