Giving Thanks

          When I was a kid, I never liked writing thank you notes.  It’s not that I wasn't grateful for the gifts I received; I was.  I just never knew what to say.  “Thank you” seemed to sum it up perfectly, but Mom said that each note had to have a few sentences.  I had enough trouble finding the words for one thank you note, so when I had several to write, I inevitably churned out the same message:  “Dear So-and-so:  Thank you for the gift.  I like it very, very much.  It was really, really nice of you to give it to me.  Love, Michael.”  Feel free to plagiarize if you need a quick thank you note.  To mix it up a little, I’d exchange the “verys” with “a lot” and underline a word here and there for extra emphasis.  Not very creative, and I knew it.  So I usually ended the task feeling like my thanks wasn't good enough.  I wonder if that’s what was going on with the 9 lepers in today’s Gospel.

          Today’s readings include our traditional Thanksgiving Gospel:  the Healing of the Ten Lepers.  As we hear each year, Jesus heals ten lepers, but only one returns to thank him, prompting Jesus to ask, “Where are the other nine?”  Most Bible scholars interpret this passage as a lesson in gratitude, explaining that only one leper truly appreciated God’s gift of healing, seen in his expression of gratitude.  The other nine were ungrateful, so the scholars say.  But I have a soft spot in my heart for the other nine.  I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt.  Maybe they were overwhelmed by the realization that they would no longer be outcast from society.  Maybe they didn't understand what had happened to them and how it came about.  Maybe they had no words to express their gratitude adequately.  Maybe they didn't think their “thank you” would be good enough.

          Giving thanks isn't always easy because gratitude is an act of humility.  Acknowledging that someone has done something nice for us interferes with our sense of independence or self-sufficiency and may even make us feel indebted to our benefactor.  Whether we owe thanks to God or to our neighbor, we may not always express it out of discomfort, fear or a sense of inadequacy.

          But gratitude is good for us.  “Since ancient times, philosophers and sages from every spiritual tradition have taught that cultivating gratitude is a key to experiencing deeper levels of happiness, fulfillment and well-being.”[1]  Modern Science agrees.  In his book called, Thanks, Robert Emmons presents years of research that proves that grateful people live happier, healthier lives.  That’s why we say Happy Thanksgiving.  In Emmons’ words, “If you want to sleep better, count your blessings, not sheep.”[2] 

And where do blessings come from?  From God.  Whether we want to admit it or not, we are creatures who are wholly dependent on our Creator.  Everything we need to live and to be happy comes from God.  We need God.  So the least we can do is express a little gratitude every once in a while.  “Being thankful to God involves waking up to the blessings around us.”[3]  Every breath we take is a gift from God, every second of our lives brings with it an opportunity to receive the gift of God’s love and share it with our neighbor. Gratitude “lets us relive blessing and grace and in this we have the experience twice.”[4]   Living with an attitude of gratitude is a wonderful way to live.

We have so much to be thankful for.  So much that it can be overwhelming; how can our simple “thanks” ever be good enough?  No matter how we feel, we owe our gratitude anyway.  So in the example of the one leper:  let’s muster our courage, summon our humility, and give thanks to God for his eternal, unconditional love.  And don’t worry about the words, because “If the only prayer you say in your life is ‘thank you,’ that would suffice.”[5] 

Happy Thanksgiving! 

Readings:  Sirach 50: 22-24; Psalm 145; 1 Corinthians 1: 3-9; Luke 17: 11-19

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[1] Deepak Chopra, “3 Essential Practices for Gratitude,” http://spiritualityhealth.com/print/1621.

[2] Robert Emmons, Thanks!:  How the New Science of Gratitude Can Make You Happier (Houghton Mifflin, 2007).

[3] David Steindl-Rast, Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer:  An Approach to Life in Fullness, Paulist Press.

[4] M. Renee Miller, A Guide to Spiritual Practice: Gratitude Practice.

[5] Meister Eckhart.

Messy Spirituality

                I cleaned my chicken coop this weekend.  When I said those words to a colleague a few years ago, she looked at me and said, “I can’t picture you messy.”  Now, of course, she was used to seeing me in a business suit playing lawyer all day, and she’d never been to my home on chicken coop cleaning day.  But that weekend and this past weekend, I was messy, very messy – covered head to toe in dust, pine shavings and, you guessed it, chicken s**t.  But believe it or not, even cleaning a chicken coop can be an exercise in spirituality, chicken s**t notwithstanding.  Let’s call it “messy spirituality.”

                Life is messy.  Kids are messy; pets are messy; adults are messy and relationships are messy.  We've all seen things that made us want to gouge our eyes out, heard things that made us stick our fingers in our ears and sing “LA LA LA LA” as loud as we can, smelled things that gave new meaning to the term “bowels of the earth,” and experienced things that were never explained in life’s instruction manual.  Life is messy, but we deal with it.  And that’s where spirituality comes in.

                As I've said before, I define spirituality as “connectedness”:  connectedness with each other; connectedness with our world and all that’s in it; and, for those who believe, connectedness with God.  Spirituality gives us a sense of responsibility or stewardship for something or someone outside of ourselves.  Spirituality is what makes us get out of a warm, cozy bed at three in the morning to comfort a febrile child who just puked her Spaghetti-O dinner all over her bed and stuffed animals, meatballs and all.  Spirituality helps us remain charitable to the homeless person who’s gone longer than recommended without a bath.  Spirituality keeps us at the bedside of a dying friend when every fiber of our being wants to run away and hide.  Without spirituality, every man would be an island, John Donne notwithstanding.  But we’re not, we’re all connected.  We’re all spiritual. 

                Spirituality isn't reserved for the neat and tidy places of our lives.  It doesn't hang in the closet with our fancy clothes waiting to be trotted out on Sundays.  No, spirituality is probably at its best in the messiest parts of our lives.  That’s when connections really matter.  That’s when we need others most; that’s when we’re most needed.  It’s a matter of recognizing the spirituality of our messiness and in our messiness.  It’s a matter of bringing our messiness to the messiness of others so we can be messy together, so we can understand that we’re not alone in our messiness.  So we can help each other through it and maybe help clean each other up.  That's exactly what God asks us to do.  He asks us to help him clean up this world and all in it, so we can enjoy his creation as he intended us to. 

                I can’t say that I was looking for a spiritual exercise when I set out to clean my chicken coop.  But somewhere in the scooping, scrubbing and spraying I felt a sense of purpose and, ultimately, accomplishment.  Even chickens, who generously provide me with the best eggs I've ever eaten, deserve to be clean, comfortable and healthy.  Yes, they’re messy, like a lot of people I know, but they need my respect and care, like a lot of people I know.  I’m blessed to know a lot of messy people and grateful that they've shared their messiness with me.  They help me help understand that I’m not alone in my messiness.  We're messy together, and we help clean each other up.  I believe that God introduced me to these people for a reason, and I feel a special connection with each one of them.  Our interactions are exercises in spirituality, albeit, messy spirituality.

To learn more about "messy spirituality," I recommend the book, Messy Spirituality, by Michael Yaconelli.

Hopeful People - Homily for All Souls' Day

          A few years ago, my cousin Jason discovered that our Great Great Great Grandfather died during the Civil War.  William Meyer joined the New Jersey 13^th Regiment when it was mustered in Newark on August 25, 1862.  With only one month of training, the New Jersey 13^th was assigned to the Army of the Potomac’s XII Corps and was sent to the battle of Antietam.  It later fought at Gettysburg, Chancellorsville and Chattanooga, where William died and was buried in 1864.  William was never mentioned in our family stories.  I had never heard of him before Jason’s discovery, let alone that he was a Union soldier who died in the service of our country.  I’m very proud of that fact, but learning about William had a greater impact on me than just pride.  I felt a connection with someone I've never met:  a family connection, a patriotic connection, a spiritual connection.  And I live in great hope for the day when I can meet my Great Great Great Grandfather William face to face.  I can hope for that day because we Christians are hopeful people.  That’s what All Souls’ Day is all about, and our readings tell us why.

          On its face, All Soul’s day sounds like a consolation prize.  On November 1, we celebrate the Saints, those who've made it to heaven!  On November 2, everybody else.  It sounds a little like the participation trophy that every kid gets at the awards ceremony.   But All Souls’ Day isn't a day set aside for those who didn't make it to heaven, it’s the day we remember all who have died – those of happy memory, and those who may have slipped from our earthly memory with the passage of time, like William.  It’s a day to connect with our ancestors, but most importantly, it’s the day we come together as a hopeful people to celebrate our hope in the resurrection of the dead and life everlasting.  

          So what makes us so hopeful?  Let’s look at our readings.  Our first reading from the Book of Wisdom is a statement of hope.  “This pericope clearly says that death is not the end but a passage into peace in the presence of God.”[1]  The beautiful 23^rd Psalm reminds us that we “shall dwell in the house of the Lord for years to come.”  And in our Gospel, Jesus assures us that he will not reject anyone who comes to him and that it’s the Father’s will that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life.  “When these texts are read in the light of All Souls, a common denominator is what the Catholic funeral Mass asserts:  ‘Life is not ended but changed.’”[2]  So we have every reason to hope, a hope, in Saint Paul’s words, that “does not disappoint.”

          We have every reason to hope.  The hope that Paul speaks of is assured.  God doesn't renege on his promises.  God’s love for us is reliable; it doesn't ebb and flow with changing circumstances because God can’t change.  “In sending the greatest gift of all, his Son who would die for us, God set no conditions.  God’s love is given freely – all we need to do is accept it.” [3] 

          But accepting it isn't always easy.  We get distracted by the many challenges of earthly life.  We lose hope as we face insult and injury, poverty and despair, sickness and death.  We lose courage and conviction as our secular society treats our hope as foolish or superstitious.  But living in hope is nothing to be ashamed of.  Christian living is often paradoxical and difficult, but it’s also a life of great joy, of selfless charity and of infinite love.  This is the faith that’s been handed onto us by our ancestors.  The ancestors we honor today.  It’s something to be proud of.  So when we feel like we’re losing hope, let’s turn to the faith of our fathers and hope together as hopeful people.

          Every time we remember those who've gone before us, we invite God into our lives.  Our memory is prayer; our memory is communion, expressed so beautifully in our Eucharistic Prayer when we pray “Remember also our brothers and sisters who have fallen asleep in the hope of the resurrection, and all who have died in your mercy:  welcome them into the light of your face.”[4]  In prayer, we enter into communion with God, with each other and with all he has joined to himself.  In prayer, we come together as hopeful people.

          When my wife Jessica was pregnant with both of our daughters, we had a really tough time picking out a boy’s name.  Well guess what:  the only boy’s name we ever agreed upon was William.  To our knowledge at that time, neither one of us had a William in the family (Jason hadn't found William Meyer yet).  We just liked the name.  It spoke to us.  So when we learned of William Meyer’s honored place in our family tree, we mused that if we had had a son, he would have been named after William, whether we knew it or not.  I don’t believe in coincidences, but I do believe in connections – especially spiritual connections.  And I do believe that William and all our dearly departed speak to us, and pray with us as we wait, together, in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior.  We can believe this, and we can hope for that day because we are hopeful people.

Readings:  Wisdom 3: 1-9; Psalm 23; Romans 5: 5-11; John 6: 37-40

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[1] Patricia Datchuk Sánchez, “Remembering and Celebrating Our Own,” National Catholic Reporter, vol. 50, no. 26 (October 10-23, 2014) at 31.

[2] John Shea, The Spiritual Wisdom of the Gospels for Christian Preachers and Teachers:  On Earth as It Is in Heaven, Matthew, Year A (Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2004) at 237.

[3] Graziano Marcheschi and Nancy Seitz Marcheschi, Workbook for Lectors, Gospel Readers, and Proclaimers of the Word, 2014 (Chicago, Liturgy Training Publications, 2013) at 281.

[4] Eucharistic Prayer II.