A member of the congregation told me last week that Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday because it has somehow evaded the corrosive affects of commercialism and hoopla. There must be something profound here because if there had been a way to turn a big profit on the annual feast it would have been discovered by now. But no, the lust that beats in every merchant’s heart must wait. They must wait to open their doors until after the turkey or tofu has been carved and eaten, the pie has been cut and forked, the table has been cleared and the weary diners have trundled off to sleep, perchance to dream—of that fantastic deal on a new HDTV flat screen or a Google phone.

Well, that’s what merchants are hoping you dream about but they are prepared for a quieter holiday shopping season than normal this year. It has been a challenging economic environment of late. Everyone’s feeling more skittish than usual—and not without reason. Yet former Senator Phil Gramm’s comments about the economy are not without some truth. You may recall that it was Gramm who, back in July, said that a recession is as much a feature of the mind as it is of the wallet. Of course his admonition that we stop whining seemed very cold and grumpy. There are, after all, very real things to complain about and requests that we stop whining made by those whose fortunes are considerably brighter than average reveal a startling incapacity for compassion.

Even so, the recession in the mind is as big a problem as the recession in the pocketbook. And while our government thinks about remedies for our economy, the story from ancient Hebrew history, as well as the much more widely known story about the Puritans’ first thanksgiving celebration in Plymouth in 1621, help reveal important remedies for the recession in the mind.

In the story about the Jews being forcibly removed to Babylon we encounter a people who are understandably demoralized. They have lost their homes, in fact their homeland. Most of the people they knew were dead. What had been a proud people were now a subject people, enslaved. The kingdom of Solomon with all it’s glories—that was lost, forever. The beautiful temple in the heart of their holy city was now a heap of stones, dismantled by Nebuchadnezzar’s army. In that kind of situation it would not be unusual for anyone to focus almost all of their energy on blame, both upon whom to pin it and how to avoid being pinned oneself. Certainly Nebuchadnezzar was an easy target. But I bet the Jews also blamed themselves. Over and over again they must have said, “How could we have been so stupid? What were we thinking?”

We were not there in Babylon in the years following 597 B.C.E. to hear the Jews’ lamentation and recrimination. So how do we know they said such things? Because that is what human beings have always said when they encounter troubles large or small. We have scientific proof of this. Consider that the earliest human skulls from millions of years ago commonly featured a large protruding eyebrow ridge on the bones of the forehead. But many, many generations of human beings have successively reduced the size of that protrusion so that now it has completely disappeared. It faded from our anatomy because the human beings throughout time who survived were the ones that were always smacking their foreheads, saying “What was I thinking!” Or perhaps more commonly, “What were you thinking!” Clearly, the blame game has been a common human phenomena in all eras. ( Note for the humor dis-advantaged—this is not a real scientific proof.)

So from the ancients to the more modern Puritans and right down to us remains this common human habit of second guessing, feeling blameworthy or seeking somebody else to blame. Part of the reason why this behavior is so common is because we human beings are no strangers to loss. That things fall apart is hardly the unusual case. That what and who we love can depart, in fact must depart at some point, that is a universal. We act like it will not happen—but it is a fact. So it has never been difficult to find reasons for mourning, for recrimination, and for lamentation.

If there ever were a people who had every good reason to shake a fist at God and shake a fist at each other it was those Puritans. Had they ever been led astray. They were supposed to land in Virginia, a much warmer climate. God was supposed to be their savior but is this what a savior does—throw you off course? Over half of them died that first winter. The majority of children were orphans. They had spent a miserable winter in the cold, staving off hunger and illness as best they could. A rational response to this would have been to sink deeply into despair and anger. And surely they too felt the sting of blame. But that was not all they felt. They also famously celebrated that first Thanksgiving in 1621.

It is not unusual for people to imagine that nothing can truly counterbalance a tough loss. What good things remain, no matter how much a source of wonder and delight, is not enough to outweigh the bitterness of loss and sadness. So in Babylon, the fact that the Jews had survived at all did not make up for how much they had lost. And in Plymouth Colony, the fact that some of the Puritans had made it through a long impossible winter could not make up for all the loved ones they laid to rest.

Usually we assert that it is simply bad emotional bookkeeping to imagine that good or happy things should cancel out the sad and grievous things. But it is far less common for us to think that it may be equally bad emotional bookkeeping to imagine that sad things necessarily cancel out the good or happy things. Perhaps sad things need not cancel out good things. Perhaps it is wiser to assert that rather than either being able to cancel out the other, they co-exist as a rhythm, one prominent for a time, the other arising in its season.

But there is an even deeper wisdom beyond acknowledging that we all will experience both joy and woe. Beyond the rhythms of our individual hearts lies a much more profound reality, hard to grasp, but present none-the-less. That reality comes more into view when we stop the accounting, when we cease the blaming of ourselves or others, and get beyond the obvious reasons for either delight or grief and admit that when it comes to counting such things we are myopic. You see, when we survey our own emotional backyard we slip into thinking that its patterns are repeated throughout the rest of the entire universe. We forget that there are much larger things afoot, that we are all part of something much more grand and fulsome than even the largest things which loom on our individual horizons. As much as we hate to admit it, we almost always get the true fundamental equation of life backwards. That is, we are prone to act as if the universe is about us. But in reality the reverse is true, we are about the universe. In reality, the universe is not our project. Rather we are a part of the project of the universe. In reality the universe is not about what we want. Rather we are about what the universe wants. In reality the universe is not about our drama. Rather what we are about is the drama of the universe.

To understand the dimensions of this equation it is necessary to have a very large story, larger than our own individual lives. To get what it means to be a part of the project of the universe we need to see beyond the horizons of our own individual experience to glimpse the larger patterns, the longer arc of the universe, as the Unitarian preacher Theodore Parker said. So how can we adopt such a view? Those Jews in Babylon glimpsed it when they shifted their self understanding. At first, and understandably, they were focused on what they had lost and how their lives had been so clearly diminished. Everything they saw only reminded them of their plight. They thought of themselves as strangers in a strange land. But then the prophet Ezekiel said, “You are not strangers. You are exiles.” The difference in outlook is fundamental. Instead of merely existing in a place they did not belong, the Jews came to see that they were, in truth, only mis-located and truly belonged in some other place. They went from being a people with no homeland to a people who longed for a true home, Zion. They went from being a people with no sense of any future to being a people with a tremendous sense of their own vocation, their spiritual calling.

Similarly, even as the Puritans struggled to survive in the harsh wilderness of New England, they knew deep in their hearts that they were building Zion. Yes the losses were immense but they still had to press on. The cruelty of their individual fortunes was daunting but they still had a new Eden yet to create. They felt that as long as they could still participate in that large project of the universe, their lives were not just meaningless bits of cosmic flotsam. All the sorrow, all the pain, that too was part of the path toward Zion. No one can doubt how deeply they wished it otherwise, but even so, their private pain did not lead them to suspend their belief that Zion must still be built.

Of course, both the Jews and the Puritans had perhaps a too limited sense of the nature of that Zion they longed to encounter. For the Jews it was the restoration of the Temple in Jerusalem. For the Puritans it was the colony of the saints who were only beholden to the word of God as it was revealed in the Bible. But even though their specific notions about Zion might be limited, their limitations need not be our own. The idea of Zion, the belief that we do most definitely belong in some better place, the deep sense that we are on a journey to that better place and the commitment to creating that better place, these ideals of Zion remain true whenever we acknowledge their reality. When we shift our sights from the details of our own reasons for misery and delight and turn our hearts toward Zion we place ourselves within that larger story of the universe. We become part of the universe’s project of unfolding itself in beauty, power and grace. And when we get it that we are a part of that large tale, that grand story, then we know what Thanksgiving truly means. When we get it that we are a part of that magnificent epic our sense of gratitude no longer depends entirely upon the measurement of our own successes and failures, our own joys and sorrows; but upon each of us recognizing that we have a part, a vital part, in that larger story. When we see ourselves as participants in the long drama of the universe, then all we can do is sing praises for the amazing chance to help, to be able to lend a hand so that we could all move, even if just a little bit closer, towards that place were we truly belong.

Municipalities commonly host a Thanksgiving Parade. There are floats and balloons and marching bands. It is a delightful thing but it is shallow. There is a different kind of long slow march of people who, one by one, take up the individual light of their life and seek a pathway ahead. And that is the real Thanksgiving Parade. And while in that real parade it would not be that unusual for your own light to grow dim at times. But thankfully you discover that this is not simply your own parade. It includes a mighty legion of marchers, any one of whom will gladly walk with you, accompany you, stay by your side, both in your sorrow and in your joy. And even when your own hope has grown dim, they will relight your candle of hope. That is how we make this march. Alone any one of us could easily be discouraged by our own misfortunes and the vast dimensions of the effort we have undertaken. Because you simply cannot do this by yourself it is a march of companions. That need for companions to undertake such a necessary parade is the reason why this congregation exists. We are a community of people dedicated to our all moving ahead to Zion.

So that you can recognize the firm reality of this grand and glorious march of Thanksgiving we are going to ask you to stand, in body or in spirit, when a question we ask refers to you. And when you stand a member of the Social Action Council or the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee will light your candle. And in time, as others rise in response to a question, you may light their candle.

CANDLE LIGHTING FOR THE PARADE

Did you participate in the Cropwalk two weeks ago? Have you handed in your coupons for television converter boxes? Have you brought canned goods for the Food Bank. Have you painted or help repair a house for Rebuild Houston? Have you made sandwiches for SEARCH? Did you participate in the UNICEF carnival several weeks ago? Have you contributed to the Harris County Drug Court? Have you volunteered in a school—public or private? Have you contributed to Interfaith Ministries or to the Boniak Center? Have you donated shampoo or personal care products to help the homeless? Have you contributed funds for the Gathering Place? Have you helped pick up recycling, here at Emerson or elsewhere? Do you recycle yourself? Do you purchase your electricity from a Green Mountain or other similar provider even though it costs you more? Do you serve on the Board of Trustees on any non-profit organization in Harris County or beyond? Do you record for the blind? Have you supported this congregation so that it could continue to serve as a beacon of light in the community? Have you just showed up just to be here to find out how you too might join this parade?

We could go on and on but don’t you see how this is a grand march? It does move slowly but it is the real parade of our species, moving us all further down the road toward Zion.

We would like you all right now to extinguish your candles, but keep the memory of the flame in your heart. Know well how you are part of something that is immense and grand. And let us lift our hearts in thanksgiving. Within this room and among these people we have the privilege of openly celebrating the gratitude we feel, of acknowledging our part in the progress of the ages towards Zion.

But it would also be important to remember that not everyone is so lucky as you and I. There are many places in the world and there are many people in the world where it is so much harder to lift this light of thanksgiving. There are too many who feel they cannot afford to acknowledge their gratitude. Some of these people are constrained by the terrible features of their life. In too many places warfare and hunger, disease and crime make thanksgiving hard because so many simply do not have the energy to do more than survive. This hardship rules whether it is in the prisons of Harris County, the slums of Rio de Janeiro, the baked plains of Darfur, or the untouchable communities of India. And in many other places political oppression makes thanksgiving very difficult. Think what it would be like to live in Myanmar and wish to express gratitude to Aung San Suu Kyi. In the past three weeks the military junta has convicted 150 pro-democracy supporters who received prison terms ranging from 2 to 68 years. It is very dangerous in Myanmar to offer public thanksgiving. But we need not look so far abroad to see instances where fear cloaks the capacity for gratitude. Too often the powerful, whether in the halls of government or in the clans of crime, intimidate others, silence the praise for justice, the joy over compassion, the gladness over righteousness.

The more you think about it, this oppression is not quite so unusual. But here we can sing our praises out loud. And because so many other voices are stopped up, we must say what they cannot, we must provide the counterbalance. It is a good thing that we pause here and lift up the value of thanksgiving—but we can easily extend the reach—around the globe. One way we extend that reach entails becoming partners with our Unitarian Universalist Service Committee. Because of the Service Committee our light of thanksgiving reaches Darfur, India, Soweto, Guatemala, Kenya, New Orleans, Gaza and many other places. Together we can help people in these places find their thanksgiving praise, help them see that they too are part of that grand journey of the universe unfolding itself in power and grace. Members of the Social Action Council along with our UUSC representative Aubrey Smith will now distribute Guest at Your Table Boxes, a program initiated by the Service Committee. Take the boxes home, keep them on your dinner table. Every day, place a little something n the box. Know by this simple device you can make very great differences in so many lives. You can help them relight their candles of hope, help them remove the cloak of fear. They too will then know how they are part of this grand thanksgiving parade. Yes, their burden is heavy and their lights are low. But you can bring them to your table, you can lift their hearts until they too will sing out, just as we do now Hymn # 407, We’re Gonna Sit at the Welcome Table.