An Extra Thanksgiving

 

Sermon Aug. 3, 2008 Bill Piston

Aug. 3, 2008

Delivered by Bill Piston

 

If you could have an extra holiday, celebrate a particular holiday twice a year rather than once, which one would it be?  Given the choice I would not have to think twice.  I would pick Thanksgiving.  I would pick Thanksgiving because I have many happy childhood memories and joyful adult experiences associated with it.  I would pick Thanksgiving because my favorite hymns are the ones we sing on that holiday.  And I would pick Thanksgiving because for me it represents an opportunity for uncomplicated harmony with the Creator.  Christmas and Easter raise complex theological issues – to say the least – but Thanksgiving merely asks us to slow down and acknowledge God as our creator, the author and sustainer of all our blessings.

          When I was a child, Thanksgiving Day meant having dinner with my grandparents, an easy task physically as they lived right next door to us and our back yards adjoined.  Along about two o’clock we would head over -- myself, my mother and father, and my two brothers.  Sometimes my dog Ralph would accompany us.  It wasn’t unusually for him to go over first; he knew a good prospect when he smelled it.  And oh! those smells!  Entering through the back porch we came right into the kitchen.  Does anything on earth smell more pleasant that a kitchen on Thanksgiving Day?  When you came into my grandmother’s kitchen after that short walk through the cool November air, the aromas embraced you like a physical force; they wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a crisp fall evening.  They bespoke, in odors that were mingled yet distinct, of all the pleasures that would shortly be ours.

          The family gathering began with hors d’oeuvres in my grandfather’s library, a somewhat formal name for what was the most welcoming room in the house.  Large bookshelves lined the walls and for my family any room with books in it was a welcoming one.  Granddaddy always sat at one end of the couch.  When she wasn’t running back and forth to the kitchen Grandmother perched hesitantly in her own small leather arm chair.  We boys always fought over the room’s one rocking chair, until Mother forced us to take turns.  That rocking chair and Grandmother’s leather chair now sit in my living room, and many of the volumes that constituted my grandfather’s library now rest my bookshelves, each with Granddaddy’s personal bookplate, which reads “My books are my friends; I like to keep them.”  The hors d’oeuvres were sweet pickles, green and black olives, and blue cheese spread on celery stalks.  All of which I liked well enough, but that did not stop me from sneaking a piece of hard candy from the glass dish that sat on an end table.  This was a type of multi-colored, mysteriously-flavored hard candy that Southern grandmothers conjured out of thin air; you certainly never saw it for sale in stores.  During these preliminaries my grandmother might sit still for as much as ninety seconds.  She would refill the hors d’oeuvres tray whenever its contents shrank by as little as ten percent.  She had grown up on a farm in Tidewater Virginia where sharing food was the most basic and important aspect of hospitality.

          When it was time for the meal we moved to the dining room, distinguished for this special occasion by fancy plates, silver, and candles.  Granddaddy sat at one end of the table, my father at the other.  Grandmother took a chair close to the door leading to the kitchen, but she rarely sat down.  After asking the blessing my grandfather carved the turkey with the same careful precision he brought to every task in his life.  He carved far too slowly for three hungry young grandchildren!  When I carve our turkey today I use the same knife Granddaddy used back then; I’m a lot faster but also a lot less skilled.  We had both stuffing and dressing at Thanksgiving.  The dressing was a special oyster and chestnut recipe.   I disdained this concoction, to the dismay of my seafood-loving grandfather, who had grown up on the shores of Penobscot Bay in Maine.  Neither dressing nor stuffing was complete without gravy and my grandmother’s gravy was superb – piping hot, dark brown, rich, and savory.  There were mashed potatoes, lima beans, cranberries, and many other good things, including homemade apple sauce.  Granddaddy made the apple sauce himself, using fruit from the six apple trees in his backyard.  There was always crabapple jelly as well.  This was one of my mother’s contributions, made from the crabapple tree in our yard.  The jelly was not for biscuits, as you might expect, but for rolls.  Like all Southern women of her day, my grandmother made excellent biscuits and we had them all the time.  But at Thanksgiving we ate her homemade rolls, the type you let rise twice so they emerged from the oven so light and fluffy they looked like little golden brown pillows that might float away.  And the taste?  Take your favorite superlative, multiply it by a thousand, and you still won’t come up with a word adequate to describe just how wonderful my grandmother’s rolls tasted.  “Heaven on earth”?  Heaven should be so lucky!  Grandmother’s rolls were, quite simply, the single most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my entire life.

The wine we drank to accompany this meal formed an important ritual, for at age sixteen I was allowed a full glass for the first time.  At Thanksgiving Granddaddy always drank a German wine called Riesling.  Riesling is perhaps too sweet to be the perfect accompaniment for turkey, but I still enjoy drinking it today because of its happy associations.  The turkey was wonderful, of course.  I’m one of those people who genuinely like turkey.  I don’t eat it out of obligation and I can go through a lot of turkey leftovers before I tire of it.  Despite eating vast quantities of food, there was always room for dessert.  I might have a small slice of pumpkin pie, but my favorite was Grandmother’s apple pie (the product, like the apple sauce, of my grandparents’ miniature orchard).  Instead of having my pie ala mode I copied my grandfather’s New England habits and ate it with an accompanying wedge of extra-sharp cheddar cheese.

          These pleasant memories reveal some of the many reasons why I like Thanksgiving, but they do not explain why it is my favorite holiday, one that has a particularly spiritual meaning for me.  I could just as easily bore you with my memories of our family vacations at the beach, or of our celebration of Christmas.  Christmas meant my Grandmother’s exquisite rolls plus roast pork (which I like even better than turkey) and Christmas meant presents, too.  How can you top that?  Stories about these occasions would underscore the fact that in many ways I enjoyed a very privileged, almost “Leave It to Beaver” or “Ozzie and Harriet” childhood.  Perhaps I should say an “Andy Griffith Show” childhood, since I grew up in East Tennessee in a town that resembled the fictional Mayberry more than a little.  But family vacations and Christmas ended in 1967, the year my father died.  I was fourteen.  Actually, we continued to take family vacations afterwards, and they weren’t bad or unpleasant experiences, but it always seemed like we were just going through the motions.  For the same reason Christmas is problematic for me.  I enjoy many aspects of Christmas very much.  I delight in decorating our house, and the annual “hanging of the greens” at church.  Few things in life give me such warm feeling as the church trips we make sing to Christmas carols at nursing homes, or the flickering candles of our Christmas Eve services here at Westminster.  But you will also find me attending our “Blue Christmas” service, because at Christmas I feel a profound sense of loss.  Christmas can never really be Christmas without my father, and I sometimes wish the whole “holiday season” would just go away.

           Why then, do I remain happy at Thanksgiving?  Why has my father’s death not spoiled this family-oriented holiday for me?  The primary reason is simple.  Although my father’s chair sat empty at Thanksgiving, my grandfather continued to sit at the head of the family table.  Over the years I developed a much closer relationship with Granddaddy than I ever enjoyed with my father.  My grandparents lived into old age and I can accept their deaths without it spoiling Thanksgiving.  I think of my grandfather whenever I carve a turkey, but the memory makes me happy rather than sad.

          There is more to it than that, however.  Thanksgiving represents one of those aspects of my life where I believe I detect the subtle hand of the Creator, where I feel like God has been working on me, and for me, all along, but without my always realizing it.  Over the years I have come to appreciate Thanksgiving on a more deeply spiritual level than other holidays.  I’m embarrassed to confess that I feel closer to God at Thanksgiving than I do at Christmas, when we celebrate the birth of Jesus, or at Easter, when we celebrate His resurrection.  But it is true.  And I don’t just mean around the family table; I mean in church, too.  Perhaps you experience a profound sense of God’s presence while listening to Handel’s “Messiah” or our choir’s magnificent Easter cantatas.  I get much the same feeling in relation to the three hymns I selected for our service today: “We Gather Together”; “Come Ye Thankful People, Come”; and “Let All Things Now Living.”  These hymns are joyful and upbeat, the sort of tunes a guy can sing.  Some people might consider them at first glance to be “light weight” when compared to other selections in our hymnal.  Perhaps, but they are not “light weight” for me.  I often choke up in the middle of them.  There have been times when singing these hymns that I have experienced a profound sense of God’s presence, a sense that God is with us, loves us, and will take care of us.  This is a closet as I have ever come to feeling communion with the Creator.   

I would argue that these three hymns are deeply spiritual.  Consider the lyrics of “We Gather Together.”  They invite us to enter God’s presence with thanksgiving; to praise Him; to acknowledge His sovereignty and our complete dependence upon His Grace.  You can’t get much more Presbyterian than that.  “We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing; He chastens and hastens His will to make known; The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing; Sing praises to His name, He forgets not his own.”  These lyrics remind us that God is not distant, but present.  He is present in every aspect of our lives and in every particle of Creation.  We do not always understand God’s plan for us.  When He chastens us we resent it; when bad things happen we get angry.  But we accept on faith God’s lordship in our lives and strive to serve Him as best we may.  “Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining; Ordaining, maintaining His Kingdom divine; So from the beginning the fight we were winning; Thou, Lord, wast at our side, all glory be Thine!”  Isn’t that a wonderful expression of communion?    

There is an in interesting bit of Protestant history behind this hymn (you knew I was going to turn this into a history lecture).  “We Gather Together” was written in 1597 by Adrianus Valerius, a Dutch poet, to commemorate the victory of the Protestant Dutch over the Catholic Spanish at the Battle of Turnhout.  This occurred during the long struggle of the Netherlands for independence.  The Dutch title of the hymn is “Wild Heden Nu Treden,” and I assume that the militancy found in the final verse in our English translation accurately reflects the Dutch original:  “We all do extol Thee, Thou Leader triumphant; And pray that Thou still our Defender wilt be; Let Thy congregation escape tribulation; Thy name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!”  Be that as it may, I don’t think about the hymn’s battle connection when I sing or listen to “We Gather Together.”  I think of how God’s hand is at work throughout all of Creation.        

          “Come Ye Thankful People, Come” has a harvest theme to which I, the middle class son of a pediatrician, have no direct affinity.  My grandmother never regaled us with stories of her upbringing on a farm adjacent to the Chesapeake Bay.  She was apparently happy to leave farm life as far behind her as she possibly could.  The author of  “Come Ye Thankful People” was no farmer, however.  Born in 1810, the son of an Anglican divine, Henry Alford was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, and ordained in 1833.  Alford served as a vicar, and after holding various positions he capstoned his career by becoming dean of Canterbury Cathedral.  He was also a noted scholar of Greek and the New Testament.  Alford published “Come Ye Thankful People” in 1844 as a seven-stanza poem.  It was not produced as a hymn until 1861, when it was set to a tune composed by Sir George Elvey, a well-know organist of the day.  In the process “Come Ye Thankful People” lost three verses and a few words were changed, none of which pleased Alford.  (In case you are wondering, I have been unable to locate the full text of the original poem.)      

          You can go on-line or consult various encyclopedias regarding how to interpret “Come Ye Thankful People.”  The hymn begins with an acknowledgement of God’s sovereignty and our dependence upon God: “All is safely gathered in; Ere the Winter storms begin; God our Maker doth provide; For our wants to be supplied.”  But it quickly moves on to God’s final judgment and the end of the world: “Giving angles charge at last; In the fire the tares to cast; But the fruitful ears to store; In His garner evermore.”  Can you think of another hymn where we Presbyterians so blithely sing about the final judgment?  Whether Alford mean it that way or not (and there is controversy over the issue), I (and others) interpret the “tares” in this hymn to represent sin, not sinners.  It is sin that will be destroyed, not souls.  God is the author of everything.  His reason for permitting sin to exist is a mystery we cannot fathom.  Listen to the lyrics: “All the world is God’s own field; Fruit unto His praise to yield; Wheat and tares together sown; Unto joy or sorrow grown.”   Yet we will not remain prisoners of sin forever.  “For the Lord our God shall come; And shall take His harvest home; From His field shall in that day; All offenses purge away.”  All our sins will be purged.  No one will be left out.  No one will be left behind.  We—all of us – have been pardoned for our sins through the sacrifice of Jesus, who died for us on the Cross.  But this pardon comes to us as a gift of Grace.  Since we have no power of our own, sin will remain in the world until Jesus returns.  Only then, freed from sin by God’s action, will humankind be worthy of eternal communion with its Creator.  Thus the final, anticipatory verse: “Even so, Lord, quickly come; Bring Thy final harvest home; Gather Thou Thy people in; Free from sorrow, free from sin; There, forever purified; In Thy garner to abide; Come, with all Thine angels, come; Raise the glorious harvest home.”  The harvest is thus not so much a metaphor for judgment as it is a metaphor for communion, an event to be anticipated with joy rather than fear.

          The third hymn I chose for us to sing is “Let All Things Now Living.”  We don’t restrict this one to the Thanksgiving season as we do “Come Ye Thankful People” and “We Gather Together,” but it always makes any list of suggested Thanksgiving hymns.  We haven’t gotten to this one yet today, but you probably remember it.  It opens: “Let all things now living a song of Thanksgiving; To God the creator triumphantly raise.”  These words are set to a traditional Welsh folk tune entitled “Ash Grove,” and in my opinion you will have to search far and wide to fine another melody even half as lovely.  The hymn was published in 1939 by Katherine K. Davis.  This remarkable woman is most often remembered for writing a hymn entitled “The Carol of the Drum,” better known as “The Little Drummer Boy.”  The story of that famous tune, and Davis’s discontent with its commercialization, will have to wait for another time, as I want to focus on “Let All Things Now Living.”  Katherine Davis was born in St. Joseph, Missouri, in 1892.  She was a serious composer by the age of fifteen.  Most of her compositions were for the piano, which she played accompanied by her younger brother, a violinist.  After high school she attended Wellesley College in Massachusetts, where she won prestigious awards.  She also studied at the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston, and in Paris she was a pupil of the conductor and composer Nadia Boulanger.  During her career, which she spent largely at the Concord Academy in Massachusetts and the Shady Hill School for Girls in Philadelphia, Davis wrote more than 600 operas, operettas, cantatas, songs, hymns, and miscellaneous pieces.

          Davis actually wrote “Let All Things Now Living” during the 1920s, but it was not published until 1939.  If you consult a hymnal from the 1940s you will probably find the author listed as “John Crowley,” which is one of the many pseudonyms Davis used.  I wish I knew the reason for the long gap between the hymn’s composition and its publication.  When Davis wrote her hymn she was in her early thirties and the United States was in the midst of the Roaring Twenties.  By the time it was published Davis was in her late forties and our nation had experienced a full decade of the Great Depression.  War ravaged Asia and war was about to tear Europe apart.

          It seems to me, however, that “Let All Things Now Living” exists outside of time, with a transcendent theme that sets it apart.  “Let all things now living a song of thanksgiving; To God the Creator Triumphantly raise.”  That sounds almost New Age, doesn’t it? -- the idea that not merely humans but all living things should praise their Creator.  Perhaps, but one of the psalmists of the Old Testament used the same metaphor.  The last verse of Psalm 150, which is the last psalm, reads: “Let everything that had breath praise the Lord.”  Indeed, the hymn’s biblical allusions are many.  Consider these lyrics: “God’s banners are o’er us, His light goes before us; A pillar of fire shining forth through the night.”  The book of Exodus describes how Yahweh led the Israelites in the wilderness: “And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way; and by night in a pillar of fire, to give them light; to go by day and night.” [Exodus: 13:21]  Like the two hymns we have already sung, “Let All Things Now Living” contains many references to God’s sovereignty, reminding us that we need only look about us to see evidence of His majesty.  “His law he enforces, the stars in their courses; And sun in its orbit obediently shine; The hills and the mountains, the rivers and fountains; The deeps of the ocean proclaim him divine.”  God is everywhere, in everything He has created.  And how should we respond?  How should we respond when considering our own place within the vastness of eternity? When confronting this awesome universe we barely understand?  Katherine Davis clearly believed that our Creator is ever-present, for she wrote that the God who “fashioned and made us, protected and stayed us” will also “guide us on to the end of our days.”  And thus, as her hymn concludes triumphantly, “We too should be voicing our love and rejoicing; With glad adoration a Song let us raise; Till all things now living unite in thanksgiving; To God in the highest, Hosanna and praise!”  Every living thing is to be united in praising God.  Every living thing is to be in communion with the Creator.

          For me the three hymns I have discussed and the Thanksgiving holiday itself have a very comforting message.  We should accept God as God, all-powerful, majestic, and unknowable, yet also mysteriously present throughout all aspects of Creation.  While we cannot eliminate sin from the world, we know that are redeemed by God’s Grace and look forward eternal communion with God.  Through the sacrifice of the God’s only Son, Jesus, who is the Christ, the Messiah, the Lord’s Anointed, we have been redeemed.  Therefore we should live upright and righteous lives worthy of that sacrifice.  We should be a thankful people who share what we have.  We should be reconciled to one another.  And we should anticipate the harvest with joy.  The bad experiences in our past and our fears for the future should not prevent us from appreciating the wonders of the present – wonders that include pumpkin pie, turkey, family, friends, and joyful hymns that remind us of our Creator’s majesty. 

The entire membership of my family has not been gathered simultaneously for a Thanksgiving diner for many years.  This is hardly surprising.  My brothers and my sisters-in law, my nieces and nephews, don’t live next door to me with adjoining back yards, like I lived next door to my grandparents.  Since moving to Missouri Nancy and I have done many different things on Thanksgiving Day.  Sometimes we have gone out of town, sometime not.  Sometimes we have invited friends to eat with us, and at other times it has been our very great privilege to share Thanksgiving in the homes of our friends.  Whatever the circumstances, however, I think Thanksgiving will always remain my favorite holiday.  It is one I would gladly celebrate twice a year  -- for the food; for the friendship; for delightful hymns; and for that special sense of communion with the Great Mystery who is the author of our being.  To God be all praise, power, and glory, forever and ever.  Amen.

 

William Piston

Westminster Presbyterian Church

Springfield, Missouri

August 3, 2008