In the U.S., November is the month of Thanksgiving and this last November I was asked to speak in church on gratitude, which may seem odd unless you know that our church has no paid clergy and so it is normal for members of the congregation to give talks. I got the message at school just before 6^th and 7^th periods, the two classes that absolutely make my hair stand on end, and I thought, ‘Maybe they should give this topic to someone who doesn’t teach jr. high.’ That’s probably an indicator that I’m the one who needed it the most.

I was scheduled to speak on Sunday, November 12th, but the call came on Tuesday the 7^th; I remember because early that morning I had learned my grandmother had passed away. Gratitude for her life was still far too tender a subject but as soon as I heard the word “Thanksgiving,” my family tree did immediately pop into my mind. I knew my talk needed to begin in 1620 when seven of my great-grandparents, two great-granduncles, and two first cousins arrived in America aboard the Mayflower. Five of the men were among the signers of the Mayflower Compact, the forerunner to our U.S. Constitution, though at the time none of them could have possibly conceived of the impact those signatures would have on this land and the larger world. My great-grandfather John Alden had signed onto the Mayflower as a cooper or barrel maker. He would have signed the Mayflower Compact with a laborer’s hands that were probably red and raw from cold and hard work with no idea he would one day serve as lieutenant governor of the colony. Nobody knew what was coming or where those events would lead.

This was a mixed group. Many were genuinely giving everything they had to do God’s will while some had signed on as sailors or others were just trying to better their lives. All of them were doing their level best to survive and move forward. All of them were in the right place at the right time, but that did not mean their road was easy. In fact, nothing went as they had planned, not one thing, and considering they suffered a 50% death rate in the first year, it was truly the hardest of the hard. If anyone had reason to shake their fists at God, it was these people. So, I have to ask, why did that first Thanksgiving even happen at all?

A lot of mythology has grown up around the first Thanksgiving, and we only have one surviving written account, described in a letter by Edward Winslow. He wrote:

“Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that we might after a more special manner rejoice together, after we had gathered the fruits of our labors. They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the Company almost a week. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some 90 men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.”

If you look carefully, you will find the basis for many of our modern Thanksgiving traditions: fowl or bird to eat, games, hosting, generosity, and plenty, but there is a stark, key difference. Do not forget that this celebration took place very close to the fresh graves of family and loved ones. They were still stinging with their losses. Yet that passage begins with “rejoice together” and ends “by the goodness of God . . .” They were mourning, carrying the weight of heavy burdens, but they did not forget to give thanks to God for what they had, for their very lives.

Gary B. Sabin gave a beautiful talk entitled “Hallmarks of Happiness.” In a clear and perfect statement, he said, “you will never be happier than you are grateful.” I wish I could tell you that at the time this statement struck me like a gong and I hurried to put it up on my fridge, but I didn’t. Instead that pointed remark washed around me in the river of all the other wonderful talks at that conference, and I didn’t give it enough thought. However, a week later I was in the hospital with what I thought was just bronchitis, but after a lot of tests they said, actually you can’t breathe because your heart is functioning at 20%, here’s a ton of medications so you don’t die.