(At least partly inspired by this article.)
I don't think I know how to be grateful.
I mean, I certainly feel thankful when people do nice things for me. And at least when I'm not too self-absorbed, I remember to tell them so. And sometimes, when I'm feeling really holy, I'll remember to thank God for what's going on in my life.
But that's not really what I mean.
On an intellectual level, I can think through all the blessings in my life and realize how incredibly thankful I ought to be.
I mean, it's fun to joke that I'm "a poor grad student." But by any reasonable standard, I'm quite rich: I have a room to sleep in. With a really comfy bed. And I have enough to eat. And I feel safe where I live. And I get paid a lot - at least enough that I can do most things I want to do. And I have an internet with memes and Netflix to keep me entertained and books to read when the internet goes out and I have friends! People who care about me, and who make that known to me. And I have a God who loves me, who's carried me through and saved me from so much, and honestly even existing really ought to be on this list because I just as well could not exist at all and shouldn't that just be overwhelming?
Shouldn't I just fall to my knees in sheer gratitude?
Shouldn't I be overcome with how incredibly, undeservedly, inexplicably blessed I am?
And yet, I'm not.
If I were the only person in the world, I could chalk this up to being some sort of exercise in navel-gazing, and dismiss it in favor of "real problems."
But I think what moves this from "unfortunate emotional state" to "serious moral calamity" is that there are people in the world who are significantly worse-off than me. There are people who are starving. There are people who can't pay for their health care. There are people who are stuck in violent situations but can't afford to leave. And there's a little boy in Togo named (say) James.
James is going to die soon.
He doesn't know it yet, but he's going to be bitten by a mosquito carrying malaria.
He's going to get a fever. He's going to start vomiting. He'll wake up in the night drenched in sweat and shaking. He's going to be scared. His parents are going to blame themselves. They're going to do everything they can to save their baby.
And it's not going to help.
James is going to die.
And I could've stopped it.
Or if not stopped it, I could've delayed it. I could have, without changing anything at all in my budget, bought James five more months of life. And maybe you could've bought some too. And our friends could join in. And maybe if enough of us got together we could've saved him entirely.
You know why I didn't?
Because I bought the Urinetown soundtrack and went to see Thor.
I don't know James' real name. And of course the $5 / month of life exchange rate for donations to AMF is only an approximation. But none of this changes the fact that there is a very real child living a very real life who is now closer to dying because I wanted to hear Mr. Cladwell sing about bunnies.
Back to gratefulness. Here are a few things I'm grateful for:
Last year, when I was faced with some unexpectedly sad news, one of my suitemates surprised me with a bunch of my favorite foods.
My Grandmother used to read up on obscure math facts and ask me about them for hours because she wanted me to have someone I could talk to about what I was interested in.
A few weeks ago some new friends from church invited me to their house and made me macaroni for lunch!
Do you see the pattern?
When I feel grateful it's almost always linked to a feeling that something happened to me that I didn't earn.
It carries with it a recognition that somebody went out of their way to do something nice that I didn't deserve.
And for some reason, this feeling that I didn't deserve it, that the gift I received wasn't already somehow mine, changes everything.
If you asked me to give up the lunch I'd made myself to give to somebody homeless, then perhaps I would, but it would feel somehow like I was being harmed in the process. (Maybe I'm just really selfish.)
But if my new church friends offered me a choice between them cooking for me and cooking for somebody who otherwise couldn't afford to eat, then not only would I give it to the other person, I wouldn't feel like I'd lost anything at all.
Or if you told me I couldn't study math anymore because I needed to do something that helped more people, I would probably be annoyed and certainly feel like I was making a huge sacrifice.
But if Grandmother informed me that she didn't have time to read about math because she was out helping refugees resettle, I don't think it would bother me at all - in fact, I'd be really excited!
Or if you told me I had won a prize and could choose between a free microwave and buying James a few more years of life, I wouldn't be going home with a microwave.
So if everything we have is a gift from God If we honestly believed that we didn't deserve anything we have If we were really, truly, grateful
Wouldn't we be more willing to share? Wouldn't we feel less attached to our stuff?
Could I possibly justify the money I spend on books, or on movies, or plays, or better earphones, or better food, or plane tickets, or anything else?
Or would I be like Zaccheus and give half of my possessions to people who needed them more?
After all if God gave me a gift And I was truly grateful And truly wanted to honor him Wouldn't I use it how He asked me to, and give it to help people like James?
Or would I go see Justice League?
This isn't true of everybody. People are in very different financial situations. Some people make less money. Some people have to support families, or pay for sick loved ones, or are suffocating in a pile of debt, and honestly can't afford to give more than they already are. If that's you, then please don't interpret me recognizing my own moral flaws as trying to somehow call you out for something you're not guilty of and perhaps are already struggling with. I'm trying to call me out. What you're already doing is important.
I think what scares me the most about this whole thing is how desensitized I am to it. If I were to walk into my church and tell everyone I was excited to watch pornography later, I don't think I would receive a very positive response.
And that makes sense. If I walk into the house of God and announce my intent to do something evil, I'd hope my brothers and sisters in Christ would stop me. Or, at the very least, that there'd be a long awkward silence.
But if I walked into church and told people I was going to buy something I didn't need--- say a new book, or a better laptop, or a bigger microwave --- would anybody raise an eyebrow?
I don't think I would.
I think I'd be excited for me.
And so, even in a place of worship Even in a place where we bow down Where we beg Christ to make us holy Who said things like:
"Sell all you have and give to the poor"
"It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven"
"Woe to the rich, for they have received their comfort"
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal."
Even here there's something missing. Even here I'm scared that we're trapped by something that used to be called gluttony or excess but is now called "comfort." Even here I'm terrified that we tell ourselves everything is normal when in reality we're complicit in a massive injustice.
And to be honest, I don't know how to stop.
I want to give more money away. I want to spend less on myself. But honestly self-control is hard And I'm not very good at it. And I don't know if I'm strong enough.
But Jesus is.
So I'm glad he's the one in charge.
That means there's hope.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Epilogue:
From "The Wisdom of the Desert", one of my favorite books:
One of the monks, called Serapion, sold his book of the Gospels and gave the money to those who were hungry, saying: "I have sold the book which told me to sell all that I had and give to the poor"